Kai rested his forehead against Aidan’s. “I am with you. Always. May Allah give wings to your quest.”
“Fock the wings. Just give me a hand out when I’m done.”
“Aidan, Aidan.” Kai shook his head. “You’ll always be my favorite infidel.”
The door opened, and Muata’s men appeared. Without a word, they shackled and chained Aidan’s feet.
“You take care of him,” Kai said. “He’s good, as his kind go.”
“We know how to deal with thin-lips,” one of the guards said. “The boss paid a fistful for him, and we like to protect his investments.”
Aidan went with them, with only one backward glance at Kai, then was gone. Gone.
No more way around it now, for Aidan. The only way out was through.
Aidan suffered a jouncing half-an-hour’s cart ride, bringing him to Dosa’s fighter compound, a courtyard walled with white brick and stone. Guards swung a broad wire gate open, and then locked it behind them. Aidan gazed back at it longingly, tasting a jolt of fear as the latches engaged.
The men behind the fence were a coarse bunch who ceased their rolling, grunting, and sweating on raked sand to get a better look at the newcomer. They seemed a forest of scar tissue and knotted muscle. His relatively smooth limbs made him stand out like a polished stone in a gravel pit.
Dosa himself greeted Aidan on that first day. The industrialist was a black man of average height and build who wore far more jewelry and golden cloth than any man of the south. “This is your new home,” said Dosa. “And these are your brothers. They are a rough lot, but I think you’ll get along. This is your trainer, Rhino.”
“Rhino” was a huge, blunt Italian with deceptively intelligent eyes, and eyebrows so pale they were almost invisible. Now that Aidan noticed, all of Rhino’s hair was extremely fine, almost downy. He inspected Aidan emotionlessly, and then without warning of any kind, swung a thick gnarled arm and buffeted him across the face. Aidan had time to roll with it just a hair, but the blow threw him halfway across the compound, to land in a dazed sprawl against the wall.
“Well?”
Rhino shrugged his mountainous shoulders. “His reflexes are fast enough.”
They watched as Aidan pulled himself back to his feet.
“And he’s tough enough.” Rhino grunted in approval. “He’ll do.”
“Good. Aidan—you follow Rhino’s instructions to the letter, and you just may avoid crippling.”
Aidan rubbed his face. “By the German, or by your man?”
“Flesh doesn’t care who bruises it,” Dosa said. “Work hard. This is your home now. Sleep. It is most of what you will do here. Sleep, and eat, and train.”
“And fight?”
“Yes. And fight.”
Rhino arched his nearly invisible eyebrows. “You are eager?”
“If I win for you, earn gold for you, I can earn my freedom, and rejoin my wife. I am eager for this. Fighting is just the doorway.”
Dosa looked at him strangely, as if just seeing him for the first time. “I heard about your fight. You may have promise. We will speak again.”
Rhino led him through the courtyard and to a lantern-lit corridor on the far side, and from there to a series of small rooms. The fifth one was bare-walled, and Rhino shoved him in. “Be back later wit’ your t’ings. Rest.” The door closed, but Aidan noted that there was no telltale click of a lock. So, then, he had some small freedom of motion. That was reassuring, in a way. He curled himself into a ball on the straw-strewn floor, and tried to sleep.
Before he could even begin to drift off the door opened, and three men stood there, each of them larger than Aidan.
“Look at the mouse,” said the first. “So peaceful.”
“Should we let ’im sleep,” asked the second, “or mebbe break ’is ’ead a little?”
Aidan rolled over on his side, peering up at them. “There’ll be time enough for head-breaking tomorrow, don’t you think? More fun in breaking the head of a rested mouse, I’d think.”
The first fighter laughed. “Yer right aboot that. Sleep tight, smooth-skin. Tomorrow we’ll see the color of yer blood.”
“And maybe a bit of yours,” he said.
“Ooh. Ye talk so swell.” They laughed and left him. Aidan’s smile wavered. He was far more frightened than he was willing to let on.
Once the door shut, he stood and walked to his cell’s barred window. From there he could look out on New Alexandria, and up into a starry sky. The moon was terribly bright, the same moon that illumined the sky over the crannog. Somewhat to his surprise, he heard himself begin to pray. “I don’t believe in You,” he whispered. “But if You’re there, and You give a damn, please help me. I’ve never felt so alone in all my life.”
He paused. “And if You won’t,” he added, “then fock Ye.”
And shaking, he crawled into a dusty corner of the cell, and fell asleep.
CHAPTER SIXTY
The dirt-covered arena was filled with white men performing body-weight exercises: the spiderish push-ups called dhands, rolling forward, backward, and sideways, gymnastics to develop balance and spring. All these, he knew, were merely preliminaries.
For most of an hour Aidan was right in the middle of the group, suffering and sweating along with the rest of them. Then they were paired up.
“This is the training ground,” Rhino said. “Each of you was bought at a price: some for good prices, others on the cheap. No matter. You belong to Master Dosa now, and this ain’t the place to cripple each other up before you’ve had a chance to earn the money back. So rein it in. No biting, pulling of dangly bits, or eye gouging. You get a lock, and I want the partner to submit. Say it, or slap the ground, or slap your body or your partner’s body, then break and begin again. Understood?” His diction was precise and intelligent if untutored.
All replied, “Yes, Sidi.”
Aidan was the last to answer. “Yes, Sidi!”
“New man,” Rhino said. “Your name?”
“Aidan.”
“Irish name. Your master didn’t love you enough to give you a proper name?”
“I guess not, Sidi.”
“We can do better. We’ll call ye … Aden.”
“I don’t understand,” Aidan said.
Rhino grinned his broken-toothed grin. “It’s a piece of water next to Djibouti. You got a problem with that?”
“No, Sidi.”
“Then get to work.”
Later that afternoon the men in the training arena yelled derision or encouragement as the practice fighting began. Aidan was matched with one of the big men who had entered his cell the night before.
“Ready for a bone-breaking?” his prospective tormentor said.
Aidan shifted his balance, sand crunching under his bare feet. “Make your move, pig-face.”
“Name’s Hotep,” he spat. “I’ll carve it on your stomach.”
“Either there, or on a tombstone. Your move.” Aidan was so calm and centered about his response that for a moment the bigger man hesitated. He was also, Aidan noted, entirely too close. The Irishman stepped in and smashed a forearm to his face, following up with a knee to the gut. Hotep went down like a felled tree. The entire group stopped, silent, as he tried to get up. The fighting slaves looked at each other, and then at the bigger man, and then at Aidan with newfound respect.
Rhino walked over to them. He looked at Hotep, who still gasped for air as he tried to rise.
“Good move,” said Rhino. “Show it to me?”
“Won’t work on ye,” Aidan said, deliberately coarsening his speech.
The huge man’s little eyes shifted behind the gristle. “And why not?”
“’Cause ye know it’s comin’, and ’cause yer Rhino.”
After a long pause, Rhino nodded his head. “You’ve got a brain, all right. Let’s see you again. Quat!”
As he called out, a second man rose, this one looking a bit unnerved.
“Sidi!” said Q
uat.
“Give him a workout.”
Aidan managed to swallow his fear, muttering, “Remember what Kai said. Remember what Kai said.”
“What?” asked Rhino.
“‘Always go for the head,’” Aidan said.
Rhino grunted. “Not always true, but we’ll see. Begin!”
Quat balled his fists and came after Aidan. Aidan ducked, went low, and rammed his shoulder into Quat’s belly, uprooting him. Quat clipped Aidan with a wild, swinging blow, but Aidan was able to roll with it. He stayed close, close, hammering with both hands, and Quat went to one knee.
“Halt!” screamed Rhino. “His knee is touching the ground, boy. That’s all we need here. You’re not to hurt the merchandise.”
He approached and circled Aidan, studying him with care. Then he said, “Hold still,” and began to probe and knead Aidan’s dense and hard-won physique. “You’re a sound one,” he finally said. “Where’d you learn to fight?”
“Here,” he said. “There. If you wanted a woman or a good meal, you’d better know how to take a man down.”
Rhino nodded. “Good. I notice you didn’t go for his head.”
“I took your advice.”
Rhino furrowed his brow. “Don’t be too smart. All right—exercises for you, no more fists for a bit. Get to it!”
Strenuous hours later, the men finally completed the day’s workouts. They lined up for a huge, coarse, but nourishing meal, and lastly, were massaged.
Hotep grunted, rubbing the side of his head. “Ye caught me good, boyo. Not been clocked like that for quite a time.”
The masseuse’s fingers dug deep. “Oooh!” Aidan moaned. “That feels good.”
“The life here’s not bad, if you have a taste for it. You like the girl?”
Aidan glanced at her. She was pretty in a sharp-nosed, pale-skinned way.
“Ye can have her for the night,” Hotep said.
“She’s delicious.”
The girl blushed. Her hands kneaded his muscles more vigorously. “My name Vida,” she said.
“But I have a wife,” Aidan protested. “And a child.”
“They not here,” she said, leaning over closer to his ear. “Vida here.”
“Yes.”
“Vida make you happy?”
He took her hands and gazed into her eyes. “You are beautiful. But I love my wife.”
Vida smiled shyly and lowered her eyes.
“She lucky. You … buy her freedom?”
He paused. “Yes. Freedom and safety.”
She gazed at him, all seductiveness gone. What remained was a vulnerable, frightened girl. “You good man.”
Then Vida turned and fled the room.
Hotep scoffed at him. “Now why you go and do that? You married? So what? Ye here now, man. Have fun. Have fun.” He began to grope his own swarthy masseuse. She reached beneath his towel to stroke him. As they chuckled and fondled each other, Aidan retreated from the room.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
The lair was not a mountain cave, or far redoubt. It was the disheveled castle of a northern New Djibouti noble who had squandered his inheritance and was more than willing to accept gold for a month’s lease, and absolute discretion.
There within the shadowed walls gathered the Hashassin.
In the basement beneath the castle, Chalo pulled against the chains binding his wrists, attaching him to the dank wall, screaming his rage and fear. The chains had soft leather wraps inside. He pulled against them, but despite his best efforts, made not the slightest impact on the thick iron links.
“Who are you?” he called. “What do you want?” He had screamed this intermittently for the last two hours, with no answer.
Somewhat to his surprise this time the door opened, and a man wearing a black cloak and a black leather mask entered. He set a bowl of beef on the ground, out of Chalo’s reach, and then pushed it farther toward him with a stick.
“You say you are Cetshwayo’s dog trainer,” said the masked man in Arabic.
Chalo looked at the meat, and his stomach rumbled. He sniffed the bowl suspiciously, but did not touch it. “Yes. It is true,” he answered in the same language.
“He values you?”
Chalo raised his head proudly. “Above any of his servants.”
“Good. He will pay for your release?”
Chalo seemed to swell. “Gold!”
“Good.” The man seemed satisfied. “Eat. Negotiations may take some time.”
Chalo seemed satisfied with the answer, but still did not eat. The masked man reached down, and with the point of a knife dug a chunk of meat from the center of the bowl, lifting his mask to pop it into his mouth. Chalo nodded. Slowly at first, then with growing eagerness, he devoured the food before him. The Hashassin left, locking the door behind him. Once outside, he doffed his mask, and a second Hashassin addressed him. “He believes he will survive?”
“Of course. All men wish to believe in miracles.”
“Good. It would be ill if he mutilated himself trying to escape.”
“Watch him carefully.”
The second bowed. “On my life.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
21 Rabi al-Awwal A.H. 1295
(Monday, March 25, 1878)
As Kai rode the last few miles to Dar Kush, all memories and speculations blurred together. So much depended upon Aidan, and he feared that all they had taught the Irishman would be insufficient. His dearest friend might be killed, or crippled. He might fail to find the code scroll, or be captured and tortured. He might simply be unable to escape once his assignment was complete.…
So many mights, so many possible catastrophes.
The closer he got to Dar Kush, the more Kai found himself looking for broken fence wire, or fire smoke, or sign of a runaway … anything to justify his increasingly urgent sense that something was amiss.
“Master’s home!” cried Festus.
“Good afternoon, Festus. Things well while I’m away?”
“Oh, not so good, Sidi,” he said.
“Was Azinza’s party a success?”
“Oh, birthday party came off fine, like I knew it would.”
“Good, good. What then?” He had noticed a broken strand of wire in the north pasture. “Problems with the herd?”
Festus scratched his graying hair. “Missin’ a few cattle. Them Kikuyu been lively.”
“Well, think not to change the leopard’s spots,” Kai said. “We understand each other. It’s a game, and an unnegotiated part of their wages.”
Nandi and Lamiya emerged from the great house. They each took an arm, and Lamiya squeezed hers tightly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I couldn’t get old Festus to say.”
Lamiya dropped her voice. “It’s horrible, Kai,” she said. “Olaf and Morgan are both dead.”
Kai stopped. “Morgan? The girl we sold to Djidade last year?”
“Yes.”
Nandi also lowered her voice to a whisper. “They say her husband caught them in bed together. Used an axe.”
“Horrible!” Kai said. “I would never have thought it. Old Olalye always seemed as mild as cream.” He scratched his head, sighing. “Trouble there. Old Olaf One-Ear. He could be a mischief-maker and a slacker, but I never thought anything like this. His mother is still alive, I think. See that she’s taken care of, would you?”
Lamiya nodded.
“And what of Olalye?” Kai said.
“There was nothing to be done. Fodjour slew him that same day.”
Rough justice. That must have been dreadful for all, but order had to be maintained. Still …
“Are you all right?” He studied each of them in turn. “Both of you?”
“Fine,” Nandi said. “It happens. Slaves drink and fight, and sometimes …” She shrugged. “Our servants are a little scared, but fine.”
“I’ll have a talk with our boss boys, but later. A dust-covered wayfarer like myself would like nothing more than a hot
bath, a meal, and a quiet evening with his ladies.”
They managed to smile at him.
“Why do I have the feeling that such simple pleasures are not on the menu?”
“Oh, Kai,” Lamiya said, squeezing his arm. “The hot bath can certainly be accommodated.”
“And the meal as well,” said Nandi. “But the quiet evening …”
“Have I forgotten something?”
“The dinner party?” asked Lamiya. “Fodjour and Chifi? A chance for them to get to know each other better? In truth, I thought you would return too late.”
Kai smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Allah burn me for a matchmaker. Ah, well … fine. Let us make the most of the quiet time we have until then …”
“Husband,” said Nandi, “already, three supplicants rest in the parlor, seeking audience.”
“Ayye. Their business?”
“The choral house and the bank.”
“Al-Wali preserve me. Now I know why father’s hair was gray before its time. Very well, give me not even time for a quiet rack of lamb,” he said. “Lead me instead to the slaughter.”
Kai had long noted the warmth and ease of conversation between Chifi and Fodjour, and had decided to play Oshun and lend romance a hand. With this in mind, he had approved the dinner party.
It was lush but small, held in the eastern formal dining room. Just a few families, with Kai making very subtle moves to link Fodjour and Chifi closer together. Throughout the meal, a group of servants sang and played their simple musical instruments, providing atmosphere. The guests talked, and listened, and offered appreciative murmurs. They dined on kitfo, with freshly minced, lean and tender chopped beef seasoned with nitter kebbesh butter, served lebleb-style, very rare indeed.
“Chifi,” said Fodjour, “do you think you might one day travel to the homeland to complete your education?”
She shrugged her broad shoulders dismissively. “Oh, no … I learn more from Father just puttering around the shop.”
Her father patted her hand. “Still, dear, you might want to think of it. There are many things about the world beyond the reach of my mind and heart. These things I cannot teach.”
Chifi smiled indulgently. “Perhaps I don’t wish to learn them, Abbabba. Perhaps I am content just as things are.”
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