by Ayana Gray
“Uh, good to see you, Fahim.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m going to . . . get some water.” Too quickly, he sidestepped a confused-looking Fahim and made his way to the back of the worship hall and the halls that led into the rest of the temple. He waited just until he was hidden within their shadows before breaking into an all-out run.
He had to find Koffi, fast.
CHAPTER 13
Leather and Cedarwood
Koffi had never been more uncomfortable in her life, which was saying something.
As a beastkeeper, she’d been in all sorts of less-than-desirable situations over the last eleven years. She’d once used her bare hands to help Mama turn a baby kondoo’s head while it was still inside its mother during a difficult pregnancy. Another time, when Baaz had been in a foul mood, she’d been ordered to spend hours mucking hay and giraffe poop from the paddocks. She’d had plenty of uncomfortable experiences, but this particular kind of discomfort was new.
For what felt like the hundredth time, she tripped on the hem of her dress. Silently she swore, then glowered at the material. It wasn’t that the dress was ugly—in fact, the beautiful wax-print pattern was easily the nicest thing she’d ever worn—but her legs felt trapped beneath the rippling fabric. The beaded blue sandals Ekon had found for her were slightly too small, and her heels hung off the backs, slapping the soles of her feet with every step. She felt unusually clumsy, and missed the old shin-length tunic stashed in her bag.
Carefully she maneuvered between the clusters of well-dressed people, trying hard not to catch attention. It wasn’t easy; as Ekon had predicted, everyone was pushing forward. According to him, once the Kuhani entered the hall, patrons would be busy making offerings and asking him to relay their specific prayer requests. She looked to the far left side of the room. The stairs leading to Father Olufemi’s office were down a corridor only a few yards away; she just had to find a way to get to them unseen. She inched slightly closer, then quietly swore again. Several people looked her way again, and she had to duck her head.
Whoops. Maybe Ekon had a point about the swearing.
A Son of the Six was standing a few feet from the corridor she needed to go down with his hands behind his back. He was tall, commanding in stature, but upon looking closer, Koffi noted that his eyes were drooping with fatigue. If she could just get past him or distract him . . .
“Patrons!” One of the blue-robed brothers of the temple cupped a hand around his mouth to make his voice carry to the other side of the temple. Everyone looked in his direction. “We will begin the shukrani service momentarily. Please have your offerings ready so that as many prayers can be received as possible!”
At once, people dug in their purses. Like everyone else, Koffi withdrew one of the coins from her purse. She watched a corpulent man beside her pull out a gold coin from a purse on his hip that looked to be near bursting. A smirk touched her lips. She had an idea.
Carelessly, she let her shaba fall, satisfied to hear it clink loudly against the temple’s polished stone floor with each bounce. The old man beside her looked up, surprised, and she offered an apologetic look.
“Sorry,” she said quietly. “My mama says I’m careless.”
The old man offered a simpering smile. “Quite all right, child, quite all right. The Six are merciful.” He stooped down to retrieve the shaba, and she took her chance. With a quick tug, the purse on the man’s hip ripped, and a stream of golden coins poured from the sack.
“Oh!” Koffi stepped back, feigning horror. “I’m so sorry, I—”
But the old man wasn’t listening. Dhabus were rolling in every direction, gleaming pieces of gold rolling between patrons’ feet. Several people around them tried to help, but every time the old man moved, more coins fell from his purse.
“Sorry!” Koffi stooped to help, but the old man held up a hand, wary.
“That’s all right,” he said, more curtly this time. He looked over his shoulder at the guard standing by the corridor. “Young man, if you could assist us . . . ?”
It was just what Koffi had been hoping for. The guard moved among the other patrons and bent to help them pick up the coins, and Koffi took her chance. Making sure he was distracted, she crept around him and bolted down the corridor and up the stairs as fast as she could. Her heart was still racing when she reached the top of the landing, but it slowly calmed as the crowds’ buzzing below faded and she took in the much quieter hallway before her.
Step one, done.
Ekon had told her the hall would be long and dark, but that seemed an understatement now. An old embroidered blue rug covered in geometrical white shapes wound down its length, and the razor-thin windows lining both its sides offered only strips of Lkossa’s pale morning light. She started down the hall without hesitation.
Door on the right, it’s the third door on the right.
She came upon it faster than she’d anticipated. It was a surprisingly new-looking door, modern and ill-fitting in a place that otherwise seemed so historic. Her hand trembled as her fingers wrapped around the polished door handle and twisted. It gave with a low creak, then cracked open slightly. As soon as Koffi wriggled inside, she closed it behind her.
A new smell filled her lungs instantly, one she didn’t immediately recognize. As her eyes surveyed the Kuhani’s study, she identified it. Not one smell, but two—leather and cedarwood.
That’s sort of what Ekon smells like, she realized. Leather and cedarwood. She didn’t have time to dwell on that.
The study was longer than she’d expected, a rectangular room bathed in the flickering golden light of several fat waxy candles. A large wooden desk was arranged in the center of the room, and two of its walls were covered from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. Other things occupied the room—towering stacks of crates presumably filled with more books, several neatly pressed robes placed delicately on a chaise in the corner—but Koffi’s eyes settled on something toward the back of the room behind the desk: a smaller bookcase with glass doors.
That had to be it. Ekon had told her about that bookcase earlier. Apparently, it was where the Kuhani kept historic documents and books for his special collection. If Nkrumah’s journal was in this study, that was where it would most likely be.
She started for it, balancing on the balls of her feet as she crossed the room with caution. It felt silly, tiptoeing in a visibly empty room, but she still felt the need to be quiet there. Slowly, she pulled open the glass door of the bookcase and let her eyes wander over the spines of each book. Ekon had mentioned that Nkrumah’s journal was dark green, but there were several green books here. He’d said she’d know it when she saw it, but . . .
A flash of something else on one of the shelves caught her eye, and she stopped. There was a small assortment of trinkets on the shelf, wooden figurines of animals, quills that looked expensive, but what she was looking at was easily most impressive. It was a tiny dagger, no longer than her hand. She picked it up to examine it, then nearly dropped it.
It’s made from bone, she realized, running a thumb carefully along its pale white edge. Three dark red jewels were embedded into its hilt, ruby if she had to guess. She was immediately enamored by it, fascinated, but there wasn’t time for further investigation here, so that would have to wait until later. Quickly, she stowed it in her bag and looked back to the bookcase. Its first and second shelves were filled with tomes, scrolls, and other unremarkable documents, but she stopped when she reached the bottom one. Her heart caught as her eyes found a notably large green book, thicker than any other she’d seen thus far. She pulled it from the shelf, noting the dark gold lettering on its cover that Ekon had also described. A good sign. She opened it and paused.
Inside the book’s front cover was one of the most beautiful maps she’d ever seen. It was clearly hand drawn, embroidered by a lush border filled with any number of creatures within the leaves. She saw metic
ulously scrawled text, intricate labels, and a compass shaped like a lion’s head. This was home, the entire Eshōzan continent, represented fully. Ekon had been correct, she couldn’t read the language the words were written in, but she recognized that this book was special. She turned the next page and saw a second map, this one similar in style, but the focus was different. She saw leaves, winding paths between roughly sketched trees. This had to be a map of the Greater Jungle. It had its own labels, just as indecipherable to her as the ones on the first map, but as her eyes roved over it, she felt a distinct sense of something like hope. The map and information in this journal could be invaluable, even crucial to helping her find the Shetani and bring it back to Baaz. Her grip on it tightened. Without another moment’s pause she tucked it into her bag, relishing its new weight. She was grateful finding the journal had been easier than she’d expected. Now all she had to do was get back to Ekon so they could get out of here.
She started around the desk, eyeing the contents spread across it. There was an assortment of papers and books there, but also, to her surprise, a pipe. It was fashioned from beautifully carved wood, lying on its side near the edge of Father Olufemi’s desk. Something was inside its chamber, packed in too deep to see. She was leaning in, trying to get a better look, when—
There was an audible click.
Koffi dove behind a stack of book crates beside the desk at the very moment the doorknob turned. To her horror, a man’s voice filled the room.
“. . . just as you directed, Father.”
Koffi’s heart began to drum fast and hard in her chest, and she silently swore as two men entered the study. They were opposites. One was young, tall, and muscled and wore the bright blue kaftan of a Yaba warrior; the other was significantly older and wore a cerulean robe.
No. Koffi’s mouth went dry. The older man was Father Olufemi; she knew it without a doubt. She’d never seen the man before, but everything in his countenance confirmed it. He walked with the slow, deliberate gait of someone who rushed for no one, with the confidence of a man who ruled the city. Fear and confusion spiked through her body. How? He wasn’t supposed to be here—he was supposed to be downstairs leading the shukrani service. Had she miscalculated her time, or . . . she had a darker thought.
Had Ekon lied to her?
“Good.”
She retreated farther into the shadows as Father Olufemi neared her, then stopped, hands clasped behind his back. “And the remaining cremations are complete?”
“There’s still one more, Father,” answered the second man. “But it’s planned for this afternoon, if your schedule allows.”
The Kuhani nodded. “I will be in attendance.”
“Other orders, Father?”
“None presently,” said the Kuhani. “You and Warrior Adebayo may have the duration of the day to rest. You will resume your next patrol shifts this evening.”
The young warrior bowed. “Thank you, Father.”
“That will be all, Shomari.”
The warrior gave another deep bow and a salute before leaving the room, but the old man stayed standing in its center. Koffi didn’t dare move so much as an inch. How long would he stay here? There was only one door to this study, no other way out. If she wasn’t back downstairs to meet Ekon in the next ten minutes . . .
It seemed to take years, but eventually Father Olufemi looked up. Koffi lowered herself just slightly as he surveyed the room. Her heart sank as she saw his eyes stop and fix on something: the bookcase behind the desk. It looked as it had when Koffi had walked in, as old and elegant as ever, but she swallowed hard when she realized her mistake.
One of the glass doors was slightly ajar.
Her mouth went dry as Father Olufemi, now frowning, moved closer to both her and the bookcase. He moved behind the desk and quickly closed it with narrowed eyes. He seemed distracted, but what if he noticed Nkrumah’s journal and the dagger were missing? To Koffi’s surprise, he turned away from it abruptly. He gave the room one final, satisfactory sweep before lifting the hem of his agbada and making his way out of the study, a low hum on his lips. Koffi waited several seconds, then pressed her palms to her eyes, relieved.
That had been entirely too close.
She pricked her ears, trying to listen for sounds from the worship hall below. Someone was still speaking in long, dramatic tones to the temple patrons—assumedly the person who’d replaced the Kuhani for the shukrani service. There was still time to get back downstairs, to get out of this wretched place.
She rose carefully, adjusting the now much heavier bag on her shoulder. Soundlessly, she padded across the room and unlocked the study’s door. Relief flooded her as she stepped into the dark hallway and found it still shadowed, but empty.
Thank the Six.
She’d just started toward the stairs when a hand latched on to her wrist.
And Father Olufemi’s gaze met hers.
CHAPTER 14
The Heart of the Jungle
Ekon was running.
The hallways and doors of the temple went by him in a blur as he tried to lay out a blueprint in his head. He’d spent the last ten years of his life here, this temple was like a home, but that only made it slightly easier to maneuver through in a crisis. There were an infinite number of halls and rooms and stairways, and he needed to find the one that would get him to Koffi fastest—without being caught.
Koffi wasn’t in the corridor that led to the Kuhani’s study; he’d checked. A new wave of anxiety racked his body as he thundered back down the stairs and ran down a new hallway. This temple was huge, a maze of chambers and halls and atriums. Where could she be?
He turned a corner sharply and nearly collided with two men clad in blue. His heart leaped from his chest. They were both Sons of the Six, senior warriors.
“Okojo?” One of them, a short man named Zahur, frowned at him. “What are you doing?”
Ekon swallowed, his fingers tapping along at his side. He made his answer sound as calm as he could. “I . . . I heard there might be trouble?” he said. ‘Thought I could help.”
“There is trouble.” The second warrior, a man called Daudi, was scowling. “We’ve just received word that there is an intruder in the temple, a thief!”
Ekon had to work to keep his expression neutral. “Really? What did they steal?”
“We’re not sure yet,” said Daudi. “Father Olufemi is going to have to do an inventory of his study after he . . . recovers.”
“Recovers?” Ekon repeated. This time, his surprise was genuine.
The warriors exchanged an uncomfortable look before Zahur lowered his voice. “Ahem, it seems the assailant assaulted the Kuhani before making her escape.”
“Her?” Ekon chose to focus on that instead of on what troubling things Koffi might have done to Father Olufemi to constitute “assault.” “Did you say her?”
“Yes.” Daudi nodded. “A young Yaba woman, well-dressed.”
Ekon sighed with slight relief. At the very least, they hadn’t figured out that Koffi was Gede.
“We’re going to do a full sweep of the temple’s east wing. Father Olufemi thought he saw her go in that direction,” said Zahur. “Where are you headed?”
Ekon started to say something, then froze. His eyes had just fixed on a large tapestry hanging on the wall behind the two warriors. A pair of small brown feet were sticking out from the bottom of it, wearing very familiar-looking sandals.
“Uh . . .” He stalled, hoping the panic wasn’t audible in his voice. “I’m going to check the . . . dormitories.”
The warriors looked confused a moment, then nodded.
“As you were, then,” said Daudi. “Report back to us if you see anything irregular.”
Ekon looked again to the feet sticking out from the tapestry. “I will . . . absolutely do that.”
They nodded, continuing past
him down the hall. Ekon waited until they were gone before moving to stand beside the tapestry. After a moment, he cleared his throat.
“My mentor told me a joke once,” he murmured. “What did the rug say to the floor?”
Koffi stuck her head out from behind the tapestry, glaring at him.
Ekon smirked. “It said, I’ve got you covered—ow!” He jumped back, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”
“A terrible joke, first of all,” said Koffi, emerging fully from behind the tapestry. Her veil was gone, and she looked distinctly rumpled. She was clutching her burlap sack to her chest, and her mouth was set in a severe line. “Second of all, because I just barely escaped the Kuhani.”
“I’m sorry,” Ekon said quickly. “I didn’t know he wouldn’t be leading the shukrani service today, honestly. I was trying to find you.”
Koffi threw him a withering look. “You’re a little late.”
Ekon looked over his shoulder, then gestured for her to follow. “Come on, those warriors just said they were going to the east wing first. We can still get to the stable before they do and get out of here. Follow me!”
Koffi looked like she wanted to argue, but thought better of it as they started to run west. The temple’s halls were quiet, but Ekon still felt on edge.
“Did you get the map?” he asked. He pointed toward a set of stairs and gestured for Koffi to go first.
“I did,” she whispered. “But Father Olufemi caught me on my way out. I had to use an . . . evasive maneuver.”
Ekon followed her down the steps. “Did you really assault him?”
“Assault is a strong word,” Koffi said, shrugging. “I just gave him a good kick right between the—”
“Down there!” someone yelled behind them. “I just saw someone go down the stairs!”
