Black Leopard, Red Wolf

“Blood plague, but the people do know. After all, it was Fumanguru who angered the Bisimbi in some way—he must have, yes he did, of course he did—and they cursed him with infectious disease. Oh we found the source, who was also already dead, but nobody goes near the house for fear of the spirits of disease—they walk on air, you know. Yes they do, of course they do. How could we have told the city that their beloved elder or anyone died of blood plague? Panic in the streets! Women knocking down and trampling their own babies just to get out of the city. No, no, no, it was the wisdom of the gods. Besides, no one else had contracted the plague.”

“Or the death, it seems.”

“It seems. But what is this? Elders have no obligation to speak of the fate of elders. Not even to family, not even to the King. We tell them of death only as a courtesy. A family should regard an elder as dead as soon as he joins the glorious brotherhood.”

“Maybe you, Big Belekun, but he had a wife and children. They all came to Kongor with him. Fled, I heard.”

“No story is so simple, Tracker.”

“Yes, every story is. No story resists me cutting it down to one line, or even one word.”

“I am lost. What are we talking about now?”

“Basu Fumanguru. He used to be a favorite of the King.”

“I would not know.”

“Until he angered the King.”

“I would not know. But it is foolish to anger the King.”

“I thought that was what elders do. Anger the King—I mean, defend the people. There are marks on the streets, in gold, arrows that point where the King shall stop. One lies outside your door.”

“Wind can blow a river off course.”

“Wind blows shit right back to the source. You and the King are friends now.”

“All are friends of the King. None are friends of the King. You might as well say you are friends with a god.”

“Fine, you are friendly with the King.”

“Why should any man be an enemy of the King?”

“Did I ever tell you of my curse, Big Belekun?”

“We have no friendship, you and I. We were never—”

“Blood is the root. Like it is with so many things, and we are talking about family.”

“My supper calls me.”

“Yes it does. Of course it does. Eat some cheese.”

“My servants—”

“Blood. My blood. Don’t ask me how it would get there but should I grab my hand”—I pulled my dagger—“and cut my wrist here, not enough that life runs out, but enough to fill my palm, and—”

He looked up at the ceiling, even before I could point in that direction.

“And yours is very high. But it is my curse. That is, if I throw my own blood up in the ceiling, it breeds black.”

“What does that mean, breed black?”

“Men from darkest darkness—at least, they look like men. The ceiling gets unruly and spawns them. They stand on the ceiling as if it is floor. You know when the roof sounds like it is cracking.”

“Roof—”

“What?”

“Nothing. I said nothing.”

Belekun choked on a berry. He gulped down lime wine and cleared his throat.

“This, this Omoluzu sounds like a tale your mother told you. Sometimes the monsters in your mind burst through your head skin at night. But they are still in your mind. Yes.”

“So you have never seen one?”

“There is no Omoluzu to be seen.”

“Strange. Strange, Belekun the Big. This whole thing is strange.”

I walked over to him; the knife, I put back in the sheath. He tried to roll himself up to a seat but fell back down harder on his elbow. He grimaced, trying to turn it into a smile.

“You looked up before I said ceiling. I never said Omoluzu, but you did.”

“Interesting talk always makes me forget my hunger. I just remembered I am hungry.” Belekun stretched his fat hand out to a cushion with a brass bell on top, and rang it three times.

“Bisimbi, you say?”

“Yes, those little devil bitches of the flowing waters. Maybe he went to the river on the wrong night for a divination and annoyed one or two, or three. They must have followed him home. And the rest, they say, is the rest.”

“Bisimbi. You are sure?”

“As sure as I am that you annoy me like a scratch on the inside of my asshole.”

“Because Bisimbi are lake spirits. They hate rivers; the flowing water confuses them, makes them drift too far when they fall asleep. And there’s no lake in Malakal or Kongor. Also this. The Omoluzu attacked his house. His youngest son—”

“Yes, that poor child. He was of age to bull-jump his way to a man.”

“Too young for a bull jump, is this not so?”

“A child of ten and five years is more than old enough.”

“The child was not long born.”

“Fumanguru has no child not long born. His last was ten and five years ago.”

“How many bodies were found?”

“Ten and one—”

“How many were family?”

“They found as many bodies as there should have been in that house.”

“How are you so certain?”

“Because I counted them.”

“Nine of the same blood?”

“Eight.”

“Of course. Eight.”

“And the servants all accounted for?”

“We wouldn’t want to still be paying for a corpse.”

He rang the bell hard. Five times.

“You seem unsettled, Belekun the Big. Here let me help you u—”