"The Spotted Hyena (Crocuta crocuta) has, in the author's considerable experience, been consistently underestimated — including by the present author. Its reputation as a scavenger is largely incorrect: between sixty and ninety-five percent of what it consumes it kills itself. In many documented cases the relationship between hyena and lion is the reverse of popular understanding, with lions stealing from hyenas rather than the converse. Its intelligence, documented rigorously by researchers including Kay Holekamp of Michigan State University, exceeds that of most mammals in certain problem-solving tasks, and its vocal repertoire includes documented instances of lion contact call mimicry that researchers have characterised as tactical deception. Its society is matriarchal — the alpha always female — the dominance hierarchy the most complex among carnivores. The author records here that his previous characterisation of this species required revision. He does not find this comfortable to record."
The notebook had been recovered at four o'clock, three hundred metres from camp, buried in a shallow scrape in the red earth.
Not damaged. Not chewed. Buried — with the specific deliberateness of something that has found an item and made a decision about it. The Colonel had brushed the earth from the cover, checked the pages, and carried it back to camp in the manner of a man who has had an experience he is not yet prepared to categorise.
He set it on the camp table. He looked at it for some time.
Then he poured his medication and sat down at the fire.
The hyenas had been calling since dusk. Not far — closer than he usually permitted before noting it as "clan active, vicinity of camp" and proceeding with the evening. Tonight he had not noted it. Tonight he was listening.
The call carried five kilometres on a still night. Tonight was still.
Cetshwayo was across the fire with his tea. He had been there before the calling started, which suggested he had heard something the Colonel had not. This was, the Colonel had long since accepted, a recurring feature of their time together.
"The puzzle box," the Colonel said.
Cetshwayo waited.
"Kay Holekamp's research. Michigan State. A metal box, sliding latch. Given to chimpanzees — several attempts. Wolves — some success. Dogs — abandoned the task." He looked at the retrieved notebook. "A hyena solved it in under two minutes."
He paused.
"Then opened it again. And again."
The fire settled. The hyenas called. Close enough now that the call had a quality he was not used to — not the distant note he had filed under "characteristic vocalisation, communication function" but something that occupied the dark more completely than that description allowed.
"They mimic lion calls," he said. "Documented. They have been recorded producing lion contact calls to confuse them, scatter cubs, create openings for theft. This is not instinct." He looked at the fire. "This is planning."
Cetshwayo was watching the dark beyond the camp's edge with the focused attention he brought to things that were close enough to require it.