The Monster's Daughter Read Online Free Page A

started relieving himself.
    â€œYou could do that behind a tree, Mr. Jooste.” Andrew looked away.
    â€œI don’t waste time, sir.”
    The disdain with which Jooste pronounced “Sir” boiled Andrew’s blood. He pretended to survey the veld. There was nothing but dry grass stirring on the plain in the biting morning breeze, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t being watched. Jooste finished his business and walked away without a word, starting the hour-long journey to camp with a languid stride. Andrew thought about following the joiner, but he didn’t want to leave Pritchard behind. Pritchard was seventeen, had been on African soil for barely a month. He hadn’t even had the time to dull his buttons and scabbard. Andrew squatted next to the body, hoping the tall grass would provide enough cover. He closed Pritchard’s eyelids, the flesh cold under his fingertips, and said a silent prayer. Pritchard had family in Wales, a mother and three sisters. To his shame, Andrew felt envious at the thought of their grief. There was no one waiting for him back home.
    Andrew’s joints were stiff from the cold by the time Jooste came back with more men, six of them in khaki uniforms, their faces red from the sun. There was a restlessness among them, a nervous buzz of excitement barely contained by rank or protocol.
    â€œSome action at last.” Jooste had a strange light in his eyes. “I didn’t join you people to patrol railway lines,
ja
?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, Mr. Jooste?”
    â€œWe’re going to hit the Boers where it hurts, Corporal,” one of the privates chipped in, an Australian by the sound of him. He gestured toward Pritchard with bombastic bravado. “Those bastards will pay for this.”
    â€œLieutenant Maundin gave the order?”
    â€œScorched Earth, sir. All the way from Lord Kitchener himself. We’re going to the farms.”
    VERGELEGEN . The stern letters filled the breadth of the gatepost. A curving lane led to a small whitewashed farmhouse sheltered by black mountains. Andrew knocked on the door. Next to him, Lieutenant Maundin rocked on his heels, the day’s dust clinging to his red beard. Andrew braced himself, dreading the anticipated shock on the women’s faces, the subsequent abuse or begging, the inevitable pattern of their raids in the week since they had found Pritchard’s body. His thoughts of revenge had been crushed by the devastation they were leaving behind, their column tracing a black trail through the Dutch farms.
    Maundin banged on the door with his fist when there was no immediate answer. It was opened, at last, by a small girl, no older than fourteen.
    â€œWho are you?” Maundin’s words radiated contempt.
    â€œAnna Richter.” She tucked a stray strand of fair blond hair behind her ear, terror flaring in her sky-blue eyes.
    â€œWe are here in service of the Crown.” Maundin pushed past her into the house.
    Andrew followed, venturing an apologetic look to the girl. The front room of the house was simple, but clean. A family Bible lay next to an oil lamp on a large wooden table. The hide of some sort of small native buck covered the floor next to a rudimentary couch made from wood and woven leather thongs. A young boy with short blond hair peered around the doorway of a back room, then immediately ducked out of sight again.
    Maundin turned to Anna. “Where are your parents?”
    â€œMy mother is
baie
sick,” Anna said in broken English. “She is
by
the other farm.”
    â€œAnd your father?”
    â€œHe’s gone away.”
    â€œIs that right?” Maundin sighed, catching Andrew’s eye, sarcasm twisting his lips. “Your father is Christiaan Richter, a Boer commander, is he not?” He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t bother denying it.”
    Anna’s bottom lip quivered.
    â€œWe know you aid the Boers who kill our