Black Leopard, Red Wolf

The Leopard turned to leave, but I said, “He will see us now.”

The umbrella bearer caught his dropping jaw. The dates bearer turned around as if to say, Now we shall have words. I think he smiled. That was the first time the slaver looked at us.

“I think you not understand our language.”

“I think I understand it fine.”

“His most excellent—”

“His Most Excellency seems to have forgotten how to talk to the freeborn.”

“Tracker.”

“No, Leopard.”

The Leopard rolled his eyes. Kasawura started to laugh.

“I will be at the Kulikulo Inn.”

“Nobody leave without notice,” the slaver said.

I turned to leave, and almost made it to the entrance when three guards appeared, hands on weapons not drawn.

“The guards will mistake you for a runaway. Deal with you first, ask questions later,” Kasawura said. The guards clutched their weapons, and I pulled the two hatchets from my back strap.

“Who is first?” I asked.

Kasawura laughed louder. “This is the man who you said time cooled his heat?”

The Leopard sighed loud. I knew this was a test, but I didn’t like being tested.

“My name speaks for itself, so make your decision quick and don’t waste my time.”

Also, I hate slavers.

“Bring him food and drink. A raw goat shank for Kwesi. Make sure is fresh kill, or would you like a live one to kill yourself? Sit down, gentlemen,” he said.

Now the umbrella bearer raised his eyebrows and mashed his lips together. He handed the slaver a gold goblet, which he handed to me.

“It’s—”

“Masuku beer,” I said.

“It has been said you have a nose.”

I took a drink. This was the best beer I have ever tasted.

“You are a man of wealth and taste,” I said.

The slaver waved it off. He stood up but nodded at us to stay seated. Even he was getting annoyed at the servants fussing over every move. He clapped twice and they all left.

“You don’t waste time so waste it I will not. Three years now a child they take, a boy. He was just starting to walk and could say nana. Somebody take him one night. They leave nothing and nobody ever demand ransom, not through note, not through drums, not even through witchcraft. I know the thinking, which you now think. Maybe they sell him in Malangika, a young child would bring much money to witches. But my caravan get protection from a Sangoma, just as one still binds you with protection even after her death. But you knew this, didn’t you, Tracker? The Leopard think iron arrows bounce away from you because they are scared.”

“There are still things to tell you,” I said to the Leopard with a look.

“This child we trust to a housekeeper in Kongor. Then one night somebody cut the throat of everybody in the house but steal the child. Eleven in the house, all murdered.”

“Three years ago? Not only are they far ahead in the game, they might have already won.”

“Is not a game,” he said.

“The mouse never thinks so, but the cat does. You have not finished your tale and it already sounds impossible. But finish.”

“Thank you. We heard reports of several men, mayhaps a woman and a child taking a room at an inn near the Hills of Enchantment. They all took one room, which is why one of the guests remembered. We know this news because they find the innkeeper a day after they leave. Listen to me—dead like stone, pale from all the blood gone from him.”

“They killed him.”

“Who knows? But then we get news of two more ten days later. Two houses all the way down in Lish where we hear of them next, four men, and the child. And everything dead after they leave.”

“But from those hills to the blood takes at least two moons, maybe two and a half by foot.”

“Tell me something we don’t ponder. But the killings the same, everybody dead like stone. Near one moon later people in Luala Luala run from their huts and wouldn’t go back, talking about night demons.”

“He travels with a band of murderers, but they haven’t murdered him? What is his quality? A boy freeborn of a slaver? Is he your own?”

“He is precious to me.”

“That is no answer.” I rose. “Right now, your story has meat where you will not talk, bone where you do. Why is he precious to you?” I asked.

“Do you need to know, to work for me? Talk a true talk.”

“No, he does not,” the Leopard said.

“No, I do not. But you seek a child missing three years. He could be beyond the sand sea, or long shat out of a crocodile’s ass in the Blood Swamp, or lost in the Mweru for all we know. Even if he is still alive, he will be nothing like the child gone. He might be under another house, calling another man father. Or four.”

“I am not his father.”

“So you say. Maybe he is now a slave.”

He sat down in front of me. “You want us to be out with it. Tell me true. You wish to throw words at me.”

“About what?”

“Every man here is unlucky in war. Every woman here will be bought into a better life. After all, if their lives were so good, they would not be on a bondsman’s cart.”

“He didn’t say anything, excellent Amadu, that is just his way,” the Leopard said.

“Don’t speak for him, Leopard.”

“Yes, Leopard, don’t speak for me.”

“You were a slave, no?” said excellent Amadu.