Luana by Alan Dean Foster Page A

now, lad, and stay away from those witch-men. Scare the hell out of you, they do!”
    Kobenene dutifully kissed the harridan’s hand and departed, feeling more insecure about the trip than before. Anything that could frighten Wembe like that couldn’t be human, Albright’s slurs aside.
    As for Albright, the chemist had damn well better be right about his chances of joining the explorers, or else caution would give way to action. Mama Wembe’s messy tactics would have to be employed.
    Isabel was saddle-soaping her field boots, making the leather strong and supple. If Barrett’s descriptions of the country to be crossed were to be half believed, they’d crumble from her feet anyway. But no one was going to say she wasn’t prepared!
    There was a chiming.
    “Who is it?”
    “Norman Albright. Isabel, do let me in.”
    Albright? Norm—then the name made connections.
    “Mr. Albright—” Isabel swung the door wide. The chemist gave a little Prussian bow and entered. “I’m surprised, I admit it! I didn’t know you were in Nairobi.”
    Albright glanced appreciatively around the luxurious suite. Clearly little Isabel hadn’t been left destitute by her father’s passing.
    “Yes, I’ve lived here since,” he looked determinedly downcast, “the accident. I’ve managed to make a modest living.” He looked up at her and smiled. “You’ve certainly grown, Isabel. I used to bounce you on my knee.”
    A situation, he reflected as he studied her while she bent to extract a package of cigarettes from her purse, which could be attractively altered today.
    “I understand,” he continued, “that you are forming an expedition to search for your father’s plane?”
    “How did you know?”
    He smiled again. “Word gets around. To be direct, I should like to go along.”
    “Why Norman,” she exclaimed, surprised. “You’re more than welcome, naturally—but why?”
    He took a deep breath. “Possibly you don’t know, Isabel, but after your father died I tried to carry on his work as best I could.” He shook his head. “It was impossible. I’m not half the chemist your father was and we both knew it. I tried desperately to persuade him before he took off on that last trip to leave his notes and workbooks with me.
    “You know how old men can be sometimes, adamant in the face of all logic. He absolutely refused to let them out of his sight. He was paranoid about his work, Isabel—no disrespect intended. In many ways it was admirable. But if those workbooks could be recovered—”
    “Yes, certainly,” she agreed excitedly. “Those were my thoughts exactly. You may even look at them yourself, Norman before I turn them over to the National Institute in Washington.”
    That’s just what I was afraid you’d say, my dear, he mused darkly. Now there was no hope for it.
    “Excellent, my dear Isabel, excellent! I understand you have already engaged an expedition guide, a gentleman by the name of—”
    “Barrett,” she informed him. “George Barrett. He wrote a book that mentions the Wanderi and also father. He impressed me as being competent in the extreme, if rather crude sometimes personally.” She looked away.
    “And he’s a bit mercenary, but I suppose that’s only understandable.”
    “Of course, now that I am here, you could dispense with this uncouth person,” Albright began. “I have my own outfitter and—”
    “No. No, I’ve given my word and a down payment to Mr. Barrett. And after all he did try to talk me out of it, I’m not going to make an ass of myself by backing out on him now.”
    Well, it had been worth a try, he reflected.
    “Very well. I will supply my own basics, of course. Oh, and my valet, too. His name is Kobenene. Fine fellow, very handy.”
    “Kobenene,” she echoed.
    “Yes.” Albright smiled. “It means fat tortoise. When do we depart?”
    “I’m not sure,” she replied. “Mr. Barrett gave me the impression that he could be ready quite soon. Next week some time, I