Devil-Devil Read Online Free Page B

sharp. Which island are you from?’
    â€˜Ada Gege.’
    â€˜The chief Kwaisulia came from Ada Gege. He was the greatest warrior in all of Malaita. He used the subi in his battles. You owe it to his memory to make sure that each one you make is carved properly. If you’re going to do it, do it right.’
    Bulko caught up with Kella as the sergeant walked over towards the mission house.
    â€˜That’s right,’ said the headmaster, panting slightly. ‘Undermine my authority, why don’t you?’
    â€˜You could use the carving lessons to teach the boys about their traditions.’
    â€˜For God’s sake,’ scoffed Bulko. ‘They’re only for the tourists. We ship the things out by the crateload every month. Who’s to know?’
    â€˜The mamiski ,’ said Kella. Bulko was a good man but he did not care enough. ‘The spirit people. They would know.’
    The portly headmaster put his head on one side and regarded Kella. ‘I never know when you’re serious these days,’ he said. ‘Sooner or later you’re going to have to make up your mind whether you’re the progressive, technologically trained black hope for the future, or just another cosy, old-fashioned witch doctor. Where are you going now?’
    â€˜To talk to Father Pierre.’
    Bulko smirked. ‘Don’t count on it. Things have changed since you were last here.’
    â€˜I always see the father.’
    â€˜Now he’s got himself a watchdog, one with sharp teeth,’ said Bulko. ‘Go and see for yourself.’
    Kella increased his pace. Bulko called his name. Kella stopped and looked back. For once the plump headteacher seemed serious.
    â€˜I’m sorry about the trouble you had at the killing ground,’ he said. ‘Whitey overreacted.’
    â€˜I made a mistake and was punished for it,’ said Kella. ‘A man was killed because of me.’
    â€˜How many degrees do you have?’ asked Bulko, apparently inconsequentially.
    â€˜You know how many,’ Kella said, suspecting one of the headteacher’s wind-ups. ‘The same as you. A BA from Sydney and an MPhil from London. So what?’
    Bulko shook his head. ‘So much education and so little sense,’ he sighed. ‘You didn’t get dumped on by the old colonials because you ballsed-up an assignment. They tried to break you because you’re an educated islander and they don’t want you taking over one of their cushy jobs at the top. These islands will get independence just as soon as there are enough educated islanders to run things. We’re threats. Especially you. They’ve got you pegged as a big man. That means you’re a potential troublemaker.’
    Kella shrugged and headed for the mission house. It looked different. The verandah fence had been repaired since his last visit, and the front of the building was freshly painted. A sister in the white robes of the Marist mission came out on to the verandah and regarded him suspiciously. She was small and trim, attractive in a severe manner, in her mid-twenties. Her skin had the soft pallor of someone unaccustomed to the tropical sun. When she spoke, it was with an American accent.
    â€˜Something I can do for you?’
    â€˜I’ve come to see Father Pierre,’ said Kella.
    â€˜He’s resting,’ said the sister, shaking her head. ‘He’s an old man. He needs his sleep.’
    â€˜You’re new here,’ said Kella. ‘Who are you?’
    â€˜Sister Conchita,’ said the nun, bridling slightly, as if not used to being challenged.
    â€˜Conchita?’
    For a moment the sister lost some of her assurance. She looked almost embarrassed.
    â€˜When I finished my training, I thought I was going to be sent to South America. I took a name I thought would be appropriate there. Then I was posted to the Solomons instead.’ She stopped suddenly, flustered. ‘Now