The slaver looked at me as if I was the first of the day’s business. He stared at my eye, as everybody else did, and I had long passed speaking of it.
“You must be the one with the nose,” he said.
SEVEN
They took the woman away to drown her, and the man to cut all manhood off.
“This is what you took me here to see?” I said to the Leopard.
“The world isn’t always night and day, Tracker. Still haven’t learned.”
“I know everything I need to know about slavers. Did I ever tell you of the time I tricked a slaver into selling himself into slavery? Took him three years to convince his master he was a master as well, after the master cut out his tongue.”
“You speak too loud.”
“Loud enough.”
The man had so many rugs thrown on the dirt, rugs on top of rugs, rugs clearly from the East, and others with colours for which there were no names, that you would think him a rug seller, not a man seller. He made walls out of rugs, black rugs with red flowers and writing in foreign tongues. It was so dark that two lamps were always burning. The slaver sat on a stool while one man took off his sandals and the other brought over a bowl of dates. He may have been a prince, or at least a very rich man, but his feet stank. The man who held the umbrellas tried to take his hat off but the slaver slapped him, not hard, but playful, too playful. I decided many moons ago to stop reading into the little actions of men. The man with the umbrella turned to us and said, “His most excellent Amadu Kasawura, lion of the lower mountain and master of men, will see you before sunset.”
The Leopard turned to leave, but I said, “He will see us now.”
The umbrella bearer caught his dropping jaw. The dates bearer turned around as if to say, Now we shall have words. I think he smiled. That was the first time the slaver looked at us.
“I think you not understand our language.”
“I think I understand it fine.”
“His most excellent—”
“His Most Excellency seems to have forgotten how to talk to the freeborn.”
“Tracker.”
“No, Leopard.”
The Leopard rolled his eyes. Kasawura started to laugh.
“I will be at the Kulikulo Inn.”
“Nobody leave without notice,” the slaver said.
I turned to leave, and almost made it to the entrance when three guards appeared, hands on weapons not drawn.
“The guards will mistake you for a runaway. Deal with you first, ask questions later,” Kasawura said. The guards clutched their weapons, and I pulled the two hatchets from my back strap.
“Who is first?” I asked.
Kasawura laughed louder. “This is the man who you said time cooled his heat?”
The Leopard sighed loud. I knew this was a test, but I didn’t like being tested.
“My name speaks for itself, so make your decision quick and don’t waste my time.”
Also, I hate slavers.
“Bring him food and drink. A raw goat shank for Kwesi. Make sure is fresh kill, or would you like a live one to kill yourself? Sit down, gentlemen,” he said.
Now the umbrella bearer raised his eyebrows and mashed his lips together. He handed the slaver a gold goblet, which he handed to me.
“It’s—”
“Masuku beer,” I said.
“It has been said you have a nose.”
I took a drink. This was the best beer I have ever tasted.
“You are a man of wealth and taste,” I said.
The slaver waved it off. He stood up but nodded at us to stay seated. Even he was getting annoyed at the servants fussing over every move. He clapped twice and they all left.
“You don’t waste time so waste it I will not. Three years now a child they take, a boy. He was just starting to walk and could say nana. Somebody take him one night. They leave nothing and nobody ever demand ransom, not through note, not through drums, not even through witchcraft. I know the thinking, which you now think. Maybe they sell him in Malangika, a young child would bring much money to witches. But my caravan get protection from a Sangoma, just as one still binds you with protection even after her death. But you knew this, didn’t you, Tracker? The Leopard think iron arrows bounce away from you because they are scared.”
“There are still things to tell you,” I said to the Leopard with a look.
“This child we trust to a housekeeper in Kongor. Then one night somebody cut the throat of everybody in the house but steal the child. Eleven in the house, all murdered.”
“Three years ago? Not only are they far ahead in the game, they might have already won.”
“Is not a game,” he said.
“The mouse never thinks so, but the cat does. You have not finished your tale and it already sounds impossible. But finish.”
“Thank you. We heard reports of several men, mayhaps a woman and a child taking a room at an inn near the Hills of Enchantment. They all took one room, which is why one of the guests remembered. We know this news because they find the innkeeper a day after they leave. Listen to me—dead like stone, pale from all the blood gone from him.”
“They killed him.”
“Who knows? But then we get news of two more ten days later. Two houses all the way down in Lish where we hear of them next, four men, and the child. And everything dead after they leave.”
“But from those hills to the blood takes at least two moons, maybe two and a half by foot.”
“Tell me something we don’t ponder. But the killings the same, everybody dead like stone. Near one moon later people in Luala Luala run from their huts and wouldn’t go back, talking about night demons.”
“He travels with a band of murderers, but they haven’t murdered him? What is his quality? A boy freeborn of a slaver? Is he your own?”
“He is precious to me.”
“That is no answer.” I rose. “Right now, your story has meat where you will not talk, bone where you do. Why is he precious to you?” I asked.
“Do you need to know, to work for me? Talk a true talk.”
“No, he does not,” the Leopard said.
“No, I do not. But you seek a child missing three years. He could be beyond the sand sea, or long shat out of a crocodile’s ass in the Blood Swamp, or lost in the Mweru for all we know. Even if he is still alive, he will be nothing like the child gone. He might be under another house, calling another man father. Or four.”
“I am not his father.”
“So you say. Maybe he is now a slave.”
He sat down in front of me. “You want us to be out with it. Tell me true. You wish to throw words at me.”
“About what?”
“Every man here is unlucky in war. Every woman here will be bought into a better life. After all, if their lives were so good, they would not be on a bondsman’s cart.”
“He didn’t say anything, excellent Amadu, that is just his way,” the Leopard said.
“Don’t speak for him, Leopard.”
“Yes, Leopard, don’t speak for me.”
“You were a slave, no?” said excellent Amadu.
“I don’t have to dip my nose in shit to know it stinks.”
“Fair. And yet who are you that I should present my life as just to you? You who would search, and find, and return a wife even though her eyes had been cut out by her husband. Every man in this room has a price, good Tracker. And yours might even be cheap.”
“What of him do you have?”
“No, not so quickly. I only need to know that the offer tickling you. We have met, we have drank beer, we will make decisions. This you should know. I have made the offer to more as well. Eight, perhaps nine in number. Some will work with you, some will not. Some will try to find him first. You have not asked how much coin I will pay.”
“I don’t have to. Given how precious he is to you.”
The Leopard was raising a fuss. He didn’t know some would be searching for the child on their own. It was my time to hush him.