Black Leopard, Red Wolf

“To tell true, Leopard, I half thought to draw my knife as well.”

“Why?”

“Why? Leop … Is that boy with you?”

“Of course he is …. Oh, wait. Yes, yes, yes. I would have drawn a knife on me too, this is a true thing. There is a story I must tell you. An ass is fucked, so you shall love it. And how many you must have to tell me? First who is this good man who still won’t withdraw his sword?”

“Mossi. He used to be chieftain army.”

“I am Mossi.”

“So he just said. I’ve been through a few chieftains, not so chieflike, they were. How do you come to be with these … what do I call you, call us?”

“The story is long. But now I also search for the boy. With him,” Mossi said.

“So you told him about the boy,” Leopard said, looking at me.

“He knows everything.”

“Not everything,” Mossi said.

“Fuck the gods, prefect.”

Leopard looked at him, then me, and broke into a wicked grin. A thousand fucks for him doing that.

“Where is Sogolon?”

“This is a very long story. Longer than yours. I will have words with the lord of this house. He has a man who looks just like him in Dolingo.”

“What took you to Dolingo? Alas, the only thing to meet us when we came were spiders, empty it was. Every room, every window, not even a plant left. Go in, good Ogo and prefect, whatever your name is.”

“Mossi.”

“Yes, that was it. Buffalo, our vegetables inside are better than anything on this foul ground. Go around the back and let them give you through the window.”

That was the first in a long time I heard the buffalo make that sound that I still swear was a laugh.

“Mossi, you look like a swordsman,” Leopard said.

“Yes, and what of it?”

“Nothing, but I have two swords that are no use to a beast on four legs. Fine blades made in the South. Belonged to a man whose neck I chopped off.”

“Do you or this one ever leave a man whole?”

The Leopard looked at me, then at Mossi, and laughed. Then he slapped Mossi hard on the back and pushed him off with a “They are in there.” I can’t imagine Mossi liked it, not as much as I liked seeing it.

“Tracker, she is here also.”

“Who?”

He nodded for me to follow.

“We get the boy tomorrow night,” he said.

As we entered, Fumeli, whom I had not seen for so long, ran up to us, but slowed quick when the Leopard snarled.

“I will be asking about that later,” I said.

“We shall do as we always do, Tracker. Contest story against story. I believe I will again win.”

“You have not heard my story.”

He faced me. His whiskers stuck out under his nose, and his hair looked longer, wilder. I missed this man so much that my heart still jumped at the slightest movement from him. At him turning around with a wicked grin. At him scratching his crotch against the robe, hating clothes as much as me.

“It will not match mine, I can promise you,” he said.

The Leopard led me up six flights. We approached a room I had not seen before when the smell of the river came to me. Not from outside, but one of the five or six smells I knew but did not welcome. One was in the room, the rest were close but not here.

“I smell the boy,” I said, “not far from here. We should go get him now, before they can move again.”

“A man of the same mind as me. I said the same thing three times now. But they say too many are they that hunt them, and an entire army hunts me, so we must move at night.”

I did not know that voice.

“The Tracker is here. He can tell you what happens when plan is thrown to whim.”

That voice I knew. I stepped in and looked for the new voice first. She lay on cushions and rugs, a mug in her hand, strong drink of the Fasisi coffee bean. A hat on her head, wide at the top like a crown, but of red fabric, not gold. A veil, silk maybe, rolled up to reveal her face. Two large disks at her ears, the pattern a circle of red, then white, then red, then white again. Her gown also red, her sleeves baring her shoulders but hiding her arms. A large blue pattern in the front, shaped like two arrowheads pointing at each other. I almost said, I know no nun who ever dressed so, but my mouth had gotten me into enough trouble. Two women servants stood behind her in the same leather dress that Sogolon loved to wear.

“You are the one they call Tracker,” the King sister said.

“That is what they call me, Your Excellence.”

“I am nothing close to excellent and everything far from perfect for years now. My brother saw to that. And Sogolon is no longer with you. Has she perished?”

“She had what was coming to her,” I said.

“She was one for plans, Sogolon. Give us tidings.”

“She went through a door she should not have, which probably burned her to death.”

“A horrible one from what I know of deaths. Strength through your sorrow, this I wish for you.”

“I have no sorrow for her. She sold us as slaves in exchange for safe passage through Dolingo. She also took the body of a girl and gave it to the soul of a man whose body she stole long ago.”

“You don’t know any of that!” Bunshi said. I wondered when she would speak. She rose from a puddle on the floor to the right of the King sister.