In his dream, Francis was climbing up the hill from where they had first seen the poacher, fleeing some unknown menace. As happens in dreams, he seemed to be running through thick syrup that both slowed him down and buoyed him up so that he simply couldn't get any traction beneath his feet.

Behind him, he could hear heavy breathing, and footsteps coming on through tall grass and shrubs, gaining on him. He tried to look back but found his neck stiff and incapable of turning. Under his feet, round little pebbles made him slip and stay in one place the more he struggled.

He groped his way towards the huge boulders on the top of the hill, finally grabbing onto the thin branch of a wild fig, only to feel it stretch out in his hands like soft putty. The unknown pursuer was right behind him. He leaped, and found himself floating up to the top of the boulder, where he finally turned around and looked down. Uncle Vernon was standing at the foot of the boulder, aiming at him with a high-powered hunting rifle, grinning manically.

He stumbled backwards. Suddenly the hill seemed to be a mile high. He fell over the edge of the cliff, a sheer wall of rock flying past him, faster and faster...

...and then he seemed to hit the surface of his bed as he woke up, his heart pounding and cold sweat beading on his forehead. He sat upright and swung his feet to the cool floor, breathing deeply and trying to get his bearings.

Only a nightmare. But what a whopper of a nightmare, he thought. It troubled him that his unconscious should have dredged up such an unpleasant and malicious image of his uncle, who had never shown him anything but kindness.

He sighed, shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts of the unpleasantness of the dream. Then he got out of bed and felt his way in the dark to the bathroom, where he opened the tap and splashed some cool water over his face.

As he came awake, the dream started to fade and he could not quite remember the details. He went back to bed, thinking he wouldn't have too much trouble getting back to sleep.

A spot of light briefly swept across his bedroom window, illuminating the curtain from outside.

Now what could that be, he wondered, and got up again. He moved to the window and looked through a gap in the curtains. From where he stood, he had a fairly clear view of the road leading up to Uncle Vernon's house.

Along the road, two lights came slowly bouncing along. A car was approaching the house. Francis glanced at his watch. It was two o'clock in the morning! Who on earth would come visit at this hour, he wondered.

Perhaps they were bearers of bad news? For a brief moment, he felt faint at the thought that something might have happened to his parents. But then he relaxed again. This didn't make sense. If there were bad news, why would they come out all the way here in the early hours of the morning instead of just phoning? There was no cell phone reception here, but Uncle Vernon had a land line in his study.

All thought of sleep now vanished. Curious, Francis watched the car approach. It drove past the house towards the shed where Uncle Vernon kept his vehicles, and where Frank had been acting so strangely the previous day.

Francis had no idea what this strange visit could mean, but he had every intention of finding out. He quickly got dressed, then carefully opened his rondavel door, and started walking towards the shed. Even before he got to the corner of the house, he could see light from the shed falling across the lawn in front of him. These were not burglars. Whoever they were, they were invited here by someone.

What on earth could possibly be the point of a meeting at this hour? For some reason, Francis suddenly felt uneasy. He moved closer to the wall of the house on his left, and started walking more quietly, ready to slip into the dense shrubbery at a moment's notice.

He reached the corner of the house and looked around it towards the shed. Its large doors were wide open, light pouring from the interior across the lawn, and glinting off the windscreen of a car parked in front of it.

No-one could be seen. Francis presumed they were inside, and carefully stalked closer. He briefly paused by the side of the car, but did not recognize it. He strained his ears. From the shed, he could hear the sound of voices, but he was too far away to hear what they were saying.

He glanced around, making sure there was no-one in sight, then crossed the few metres between the car and the side of the shed. The building's doors opened towards the outside, and he now pressed himself to the side of the shed, between its wall and the door. Through the gap between the door and the shed wall, he could see into the building.

Standing with his back towards Francis, was Uncle Vernon. He was facing two Asian men, and they were animatedly discussing something. Francis did not recognise either of these two. One was in his forties, and had a scar running from the middle of his forehead, across his right eyebrow and onto his left cheek. The other one was young, and had a clean, open face.

Francis did not like the look and manner of Scarface. The man looked aggressive, unpleasant and downright dangerous. What could be Uncle Vernon's business with such people?

He thought about the letter from China that he had seen on the little table in Uncle Vernon's studio the previous day. Were these the art agents from China that Uncle Vernon was supposedly negotiating with? But why would they arrive in the middle of the night, and then convene for a secretive meeting in the shed?

It made no sense at all. Francis strained his ears, and listened to their conversation.

Scarface was angrily wagging his finger at Uncle Vernon.

"Mr. Lao here tells me I should trust you," he barked. "But I wonder about that! What is this with police suddenly swarming all over the place?"

"I assure you they know nothing, Chang," replied Uncle Vernon calmly. "They were deliberately led on a wild goose chase by, er, an associate of mine. Everything is safe."

"So you say," replied Chang, his scar reddening. "But in this business I have learned something, my friend. What people say and what happens in reality are often two completely different things! Not so? Hm? Hm?" He punctuated this with a sarcastic little grin that sent shivers down Francis' spine.

"Why are you pointing fingers at me?" asked Uncle Vernon, still speaking in his usual, easy voice. "What were your men doing on my farm? If you had told me, I would have kept the children away from there. How was I supposed to know your idiots were camping there where the kids were bound to stumble upon them?"

"That was a mistake on their part, and they will be punished," said Chang. "I want to know why the police had to get involved? What kind of game are you playing?"

"My dear Mr. Chang," said Uncle Vernon, "what exactly did you expect me to do after what happened out there? Tell them this kind of thing is normal and send them to bed? How long do you think it would have taken them to work out that all is not as it should be here? No, I had to arrange the little show, or they would have been suspicious by now. As it is, they know nothing. They don't suspect anything. You should thank me instead of waving your finger at me."

"Thank you?" Chang was clearly still not mollified. "For getting the police involved? You could have made some other plan. Sent them home. Told them something. Anything!"

"Easy for you to say," replied Uncle Vernon, a note of anger now beginning to creep into his voice. "What would you have done? How was I to know that your men, through their incompetence, would spring such a little surprise on me? And shot at the children too! These are my sister's children, need I remind you? Entrusted to me while she's studying in Europe and their father's in Mozambique? What do you think would have happened to our plans if one of the little brats had his head blown off!?"

Crouching behind the shed door, Francis was breathing hard, his heart pounding in his ears. Brats? Uncle Vernon referred to them as brats? And he was talking calmly to what was clearly a career criminal, talking about plans they had made together? With the poachers involved?

Francis felt he might faint any moment. If someone had told him that Uncle Vernon was an alien from outer space, it couldn't have shocked him more. But here it was: clear evidence that his uncle was involved in organized crime!

He tried to control his breathing, and listened further. Mr. Lao, the younger man who did not look like a criminal at all, had been quiet throughout the entire exchange between Uncle Vernon and Chang. Now he spoke up.

"Gentleman," he said in a soft, almost gentle voice, that nevertheless carried great authority. "We could stand around here all night long and point fingers at each other, but it will serve no purpose. I suggest we come to a decision about what to do now. It seems it might be prudent to speed up our schedule a little?"

"I agree," said Uncle Vernon. "I'm pretty sure there is no real danger, but let us play it safe. Mr. Chang, will you make arrangements? I think the merchandise can stay here for a few days. I'll keep the shed locked and make sure no-one gets in here."

As he was speaking, Uncle Vernon waved his hand at the 'merchandise,' and Francis noticed it for the first time. Stacked along the wall of the shed, were the ten rhino horns from the poachers' camp. Nine large ones, and the small one that Laura had put her life in danger for. And there it was, back in the hands of the very same criminals that had arranged the poaching in the first place.

Francis' shock and confusion made way for a new emotion. A searing anger at these people, and most of all his uncle, was making his head pound and the palms of his hands sweat. He adored his cousin. They had been best pals for as long as he could remember. Less than two days ago she nearly got killed at the hands of thugs hired by these people right here in front of him, and all for nothing. Uncle Vernon's betrayal was unforgivable!

The men in the shed kept on talking, but he was no longer listening. He was trying to get over the shock of what he had just heard, trying to think of what to do next. Should he confront them? Perhaps just storm right into the shed and tell them he had heard everything? But then he remembered Uncle Vernon referring to him, his sister and Laura as brats. Who knows what the man might be capable of?

He was seized with sudden fear at the thought of how vulnerable the three of them were out here. I should get back to my room and go think things over there, he thought.

Then he suddenly had a powerful sense that someone was standing right behind him. The fine hair on his arms and on the back of his neck stood on end.

Before he could turn around, a hand fell heavily on his shoulder.

He barely managed to stifle a scream.

* * *

Alice woke up thirsty. Rather against her own better judgement, she had eaten a quantity of very dry, salty impala biltong the previous evening, and this was now having its effects.

So as not to wake Laura, peacefully sleeping in the bed beside her, she left the bedside lamp off, and simply slipped out of bed, into her gown, and quietly tiptoed out of the bedroom to the kitchen to go get a glass of water.

She filled her glass at the kitchen tap, drank, then stretched and yawned. And then paused in mid-yawn. Light was falling across the lawn outside the kitchen window.

Curiously, she opened the kitchen door and stepped onto the cool, dewy grass on her bare feet. She walked around the back of the house. It was as she thought: the light was coming from the open doors of the shed.

She could hear the sound of voices coming from the shed. Now very curious indeed, she walked closer. Then she saw her brother, sitting crouched by the shed door.

Why would he be eavesdropping? Still half asleep, she wasn't at all alarmed, and openly crossed the lawn until she was standing right behind him. She dropped her hand heavily on his shoulder.

He jumped and spun around. She was surprised to see an expression of terror on his face, and immediately regretted having sneaked up on him like that.

"Oh dear, sorry to..."

He jumped forward and clapped his hand over her mouth.

"Shut up!" he whispered at her urgently, his eyes wide.

It had the desired effect. Apart from the minor fights that occur in all families, she and her brother got along well, and he almost never talked to her in such a manner. She immediately realized that something big must be wrong.

They both crouched down again.

"Listen to them speak in there," he whispered in her ear. "Whatever you do, and whatever you think you might be hearing, do not say anything. I'll explain later, but please trust me now."

The men in the shed had not noticed anything. They were wrapping up their conversation.

"Okay, it's all arranged then," said Uncle Vernon. "Mr. Chang will let me know when he can arrange transport, and in the meantime I'll keep the merchandise here, out of sight. And don't worry about the brats. I have them under control."

Alice's eyes widened.

"Look at the 'merchandise' over there," whispered Francis, pointing. She saw the rhino horns and gasped.

There was no time to wonder about it any further, because the men in the shed abruptly turned around walked towards the doors.

"Quick, this way," whispered Francis. They both slipped around the side of the shed, into some shrubbery, and waited.

"Well, thanks for the visit, gentlemen," said Uncle Vernon jovially. "Do keep me informed of progress. We are going to make us a little fortune, just you wait and see."

He laughed softly, shook the two men's hands and then stood back, watching them get into their car and drive off. He stood where he was for a while, then returned to the shed, switched off the light, locked the doors and then walked back into the house.

Francis and Alice sat where they were, hardly breathing until they were sure their uncle had gone to sleep. Then Francis started telling Alice everything.