‘Master? Is he after baksheesh?’ Said wondered. ‘We only have a couple of coins left.’
‘He’s just doing his job. Unwrap the book, but don’t let them get hold of it.’ Benzamir turned back to the captain. ‘My king has sent a priceless gift to the emperor, one I understand he’d like very much. But if you don’t want it, we’ll be on our way. I’m sure we can use it ourselves.’
Said unveiled the corner of the User book and held it up for a moment, then shrugged theatrically.
‘Stop!’ blurted the captain, then recovered. ‘I mean, wait. I’ll fetch someone.’
He barked at one of the guards, who dropped his spear and lozenge-shaped shield and ran through the inner gates to the space beyond.
‘See?’ said Benzamir. ‘Some things have value beyond money.’
‘Perhaps you should let us look after your gift,’ said the captain. His fingers stroked the sweat off his palms.
‘Perhaps it’d be a mistake to take something by force that we’re ready to give freely. The king of the People over the Sea is a powerful man and would take great offence at such an action.’ Benzamir took a step forward as if to show that he had not only the king’s authority, but his own as well.
The captain of the guard looked down at Benzamir looking up at him. ‘Your balls are as brass as these gates, emissary. You know that that book was stolen from the emperor, and that we even have the traitor-thief in the cells as we speak. I could take it from you now and you’d never be able to stop me.’
‘And I can piss higher up the wall than you, even though you’re taller. Trust me, it wouldn’t be you who’d take the book. One of your men perhaps, if they had the stomach for a fight, but not you. You’d be flat on your back the moment you gave the order.’ Benzamir tried a smile on for size. ‘Sorry, but this is important. The fate of the world hangs in the balance.’
They were interrupted by a flurry of red and gold cloth.
‘You may stand aside, Captain,’ puffed the grey-haired man. ‘I’ll be dealing with this.’
The captain was in no mood to back down, but Benzamir saw that there was no further need for posturing. The book was safe for the moment. He stepped back and let the man come between them.
‘You may go to your post, Captain.’
With a grunt of annoyance, the captain turned away and stamped into the guardroom. As he disappeared, he flashed Benzamir the devil’s horns with his fingers. The guards drew back and muttered to themselves as the grey-haired man beckoned the visitors forward.
Once again, Wahir offered the scroll, and the man took it. He read the Arabic script and bowed to Benzamir. ‘My lord. I am Joshua Mwendwa, and I am one of His Imperial Majesty’s underministers of state. I welcome you and your party to Great Nairobi, and may I express what a pleasure it is to meet new friends of the empire, wherever they might be found?’
‘You may. I am Prince Benzamir Mahmood, and I bring a gift from my father the king as a token of his esteem.’
Underminister Mwendwa pressed his hands together in an attempt to stop them lunging forward and grabbing the book from Said’s arms. ‘Yes, your gift. A very fortunate choice. The emperor has an almost complete set of these books, and yours will be a valuable addition to the set.’
‘So I understand. The king of the Peoples over the Sea is very wise.’ Benzamir dug his toe into the ground and twisted it around. ‘May we arrange a time to present ourselves and our credentials to His Imperial Majesty?’
‘I am certain he will wish to see you at his earliest convenience.’ Mwendwa nodded to the guards, who began to close the outer gates. ‘But first he would insist you enjoy the hospitality of the imperial palace. A bath? Clean clothes? I can tell you’ve come a very long way indeed.’
They were going to be trapped, both them and the book. Benzamir decided to put a brave face on it. ‘Further than you might anticipate, Underminister. We will accept your kind offer.’
Mwendwa presumed to take Benzamir’s arm and usher him forward to the inner gate. Benzamir strode forward confidently, arm-in-arm with the underminister, leaving the others to trail hesitantly behind. The guards opened the inner gates, just as the outer ones banged echoing shut.
CHAPTER 31
THE ANTECHAMBER TO the throne room was more than large enough to intimidate. Even Benzamir felt cowed by the high ceiling and the distance between the walls. The doors were tall and narrow, and made him feel like a little child.
‘Master,’ whispered Wahir. He’d found speaking at normal volume caused a booming echo that deeply disturbed him. ‘Why are they making us wait so long?’
‘I don’t know. There could be a whole host of reasons, the least of which is that the emperor isn’t ready yet.’
‘Doesn’t he want the book?’
‘I’m sure he does. It’s just that we’re strangers here and don’t know how things work.’
Wahir hefted the metal book in his arms into a more comfortable position. ‘What do we do?’
‘We stand around, twiddling our thumbs.’
As he finished speaking, the throne-room doors swung open, and Underminister Mwendwa backed through, bowing.
‘Please listen,’ he said, straightening, ‘you are not to approach the throne unless invited. You are not to touch the emperor on any account. Do not turn your back to the emperor. You are to address him as Your Imperial Majesty or Your Imperial Highness. You must answer his questions fully and candidly, and not ask questions of your own. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, that’s fine.’ Benzamir adjusted the unfamiliar blue shift he’d been given to wear and inspected his companions. ‘Ready? No spitting on the carpet, Said.’
‘I don’t spit on carpets,’ Said objected, then tutted. ‘Very funny.’
‘Right, best foot forward, and try and look suitably awed.’
It wasn’t difficult. If the anteroom had been tall, the throne room reached almost to the sky. Benzamir’s eyes were drawn irresistibly upwards to the oil lamps strung between the tapering pillars and into the darkness beyond, then down the length of the room to the dais and the golden throne surrounded by a sea of red banners that draped gracefully around it.
‘Awed yet?’ giggled Alessandra. Her fingers dug into the scroll and left shadowed dents.
‘I’ve seen some incredible sights in my time, but this is right up there with the destruction of the Eta Eridane. Courage.’ Benzamir started the long slow walk towards the throne, and the others hurried to catch up.
Halfway down, a functionary in a simple white robe stopped them with an upraised hand.
‘Who is it that desires an audience with His Imperial Majesty?’
Benzamir’s throat was dry. ‘Benzamir Michael Mahmood and his companions, emissaries of the People over the Sea.’
The man bowed to the throne and announced them in a clear, ringing voice. The tiny figure sitting on the throne lifted his ebony-handled fly whisk, and they had permission to proceed.
When they eventually reached him, they discovered that His Imperial Majesty the Kaisari Yohane Muzorewa was a great bull of a man, but still dwarfed by the size of the chair in which he sat. Sweating in his robes despite the coolness of the room and the efforts of a man with a swinging fan, the emperor of the Kenyan empire looked strangely uncomfortable.
The white-robed functionary took the scroll from Alessandra’s unresisting hands and presented it to the emperor with downcast eyes. He backed away down the steps, stood to one side and waited as the scroll was unrolled and studied.
The emperor kept glowering over the top of the page as he read, glancing from one to another, trying to work out who they actually were. Benzamir stayed guardedly neutral and tried not to let his eyes wander too much.