Black Leopard, Red Wolf

“As I say, nobody can think of a time when he was not chancellor, but nobody can remember when he became so, or what he was before.”

“He was not chancellor yesterday, but has been chancellor forever. Did they kill all in Fumanguru’s house?”

“Maybe you should ask a prefect.”

“Maybe I will.”

He turned to look down in the street and wrapped the cloth over his head.

“One more thing. Come closer, one-eyed wolf.”

He pointed down into the street. I came up beside him as the clothes fell from him. He arched his back, his body was saying I could have him again right there. I turned to face him and he smiled a smile, all black. He blew it all in my face, black dust. Kohl dust, a large cloud in my eyes, nose, and mouth. Kohl dust mixed with viper poison, I could smell it. He looked at me deep, not with any malice, just with great interest, like he was told what would happen next. I punched him in the neck bump, then grabbed his throat and squeezed.

“They must have given you the antidote,” I said, “or you would have been dead by now.”

He coughed and groaned. I squeezed until his eyes bulged.

“Who sent you? Who gave you kohl dust?”

I pushed him hard. He fell back from the edge of the roof screaming and I caught his ankle. He kept flailing and yelling and almost slipped from me.

“By the gods, Tracker! By the gods! Mercy!”

“Mercifully release you?”

I eased my grip and he slipped. Ekoiye screamed.

“Who knew I would come to you?”

“No one!”

I let his ankle slip again.

“I don’t know! It’s an enchantment, I swear it. It must have been.”

“Who paid you to kill me?”

“It was not to kill you, I swear.”

“There is venom in this kohl. An ingenious thing like you must know of enchantments, so learn this. Nothing born of metal can harm me.”

“It was for anybody who ask. He never said kill you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know! A man in veils, more veils than a Kongori nun. He come in Obora Dikka moon, in the Basa star. I swear it. He said blow kohl breath in the face of anyone who asks of Basu Fumanguru.”

“Why would anyone ask you of Basu Fumanguru?”

“Nobody ask until you.”

“Tell me more of this man. What colour his robes?”

“B-black. No blue. Dark blue, his fingers blue. No, blue in the fingernails like he dyes great cloths.”

“Are you sure he was not in black?”

“It was blue. By the gods, blue.”

“And what was to happen next, Ekoiye?”

“They said men would come.”

“You said he before.”

“He!”

“How would he know?”

“I was to go back to my room and release the pigeon in the window.”

“This story grows more legs and wings by the blink. What else?”

“Nothing else. Am I a spy? Listen, I swear by the—”

“Gods, I know. But I do not believe in gods, Ekoiye.”

“This was not to kill you.”

“Listen, Ekoiye. It is not that you lie, but that you don’t know truth. There was enough venom spewing from your mouth to kill nine buffalo.”

“Mercy,” he said, weeping.

Sweat made him slippery in my hand.

“The ever-dry Ekoiye breaks into sweat.”

“Mercy!”

“I am confused, Ekoiye. Let me retell this in a way that adds up to sense, for me and perhaps you. Even though Basu Fumanguru has been dead three years, a man in blue robes hiding his face still approached you, little more than a moon past. And he said, Should anyone speak of Basu Fumanguru, a man you would have no reason to know, take this antidote, then blow viper-soaked kohl dust in his face and kill him, then send word for me to pick up the body. Or not kill him, just put him to sleep as we can collect him as garbage mongers do for a fee. Is that all?”

He nodded, over and over.

“Two things, Ekoiye. Either you were not supposed to kill me, only leave me helpless so they can squeeze fact from me themselves. Or you were supposed to kill me but ask deeper questions before.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don—”

“You don’t know. You don’t know anything. You don’t even know if the antidote, the poison killer, kills the poison. Here I thought you were a wise boy trapped in an unwise life. No antidote ever kills the poison, Ekoiye, it only delays it. The most you live is eight years, maybe ten, pretty one. Nobody told you? Maybe there is not too much venom in you, and you live ten and four years. I still don’t understand why they came to you.”

Now he laughed. Loud and long.

“Because everybody comes to the pleasure monger later or sooner, Tracker. You cannot help yourselves. Husbands, chiefs, lords, tax collectors, even you. Like a pack of hungry dogs. Later or sooner you all come back to who you are. Like you pushing me down and fucking the little he-whore rough because you were a dog even before that eye. You know what I wish, man-fucker? I wish I had venom to kill the whole world.”