I yawned as I popped Wise Counselor out. I’d enjoyed the vision, except for seeing Hassan the Shiite, who was dead and who could stay dead for all I cared. I thought about what the little story might mean. It might mean that my unconscious mind was hard at work coming up with clever ways to outsmart my enemies. I was glad to learn this. I already knew that I wasn’t going to get anywhere by force. I didn’t have any. I felt subtly different after that session with Wise Counselor: more determined, maybe, but also wonderfully clear and free. I had a grim set to my jaw now and the sense that no one at all could impose restrictions on me. I’d been changed by Shaknahyi’s death, kicked up to a higher energy level. I felt as if I were living in pure oxygen, bright and clean and dangerously explosive.
“Yaa Sidi,” said Kmuzu softly.
“What is it?”
“The master of the house is ill today and wishes you to attend to a small business matter.”
I yawned again. “Yeah, you right. What kind of business?”
“I do not know.”
This liberated feeling let me forget about what Fried-lander Bey might think of my clothes. That just wasn’t important anymore. Papa had me under his thumb and maybe I couldn’t do anything about it, but I wasn’t going to be passive any longer. I intended to let him know that; but when I saw him, he looked so ill that I filed it away for later.
He lay propped up in bed with a small mountain of pillows around him and behind his back. A tray table straddled his legs, and it was stacked high with file folders, reports, multicolored memory plates, and a tiny microcomputer. He held a cup of hot aromatic tea in one hand and one of Umm Saad’s stuffed dates in the other. Umm Saad must have thought she could bribe Papa with them, or that he would forget his last words to her. To be honest, Friedlander Bey’s problem with Umm Saad seemed almost trivial to me now, but I did not mention her.
“I pray for your well-being,” I said.
Papa raised his eyes toward me and grimaced. “It is nothing, my nephew. I feel dizzy and sick to my stomach.”
I leaned forward and kissed Papa’s cheek, and he muttered something I could not hear clearly.
I waited for him to explain the business matter he wanted me to take care of. “Youssef tells me there is a large, angry woman in the waiting room downstairs,” he said, a frown pulling down his mouth. “Her name is Tema Akwete. She’s trying to be patient because she’s come a long distance to beg a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” I asked.
Papa shrugged. “She represents the new government of the Songhay Republic.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Last month the country was called the Glorified Segu Kingdom. Before that it was the Magistracy of Timbuktu, and before that Mali, and before that it was part of French West Africa.”
“And the Akwete woman is an emissary from the new regime?”
Friedlander Bey nodded. He started to say something, but his eyes closed and his head fell back against the pillows. He passed a hand across his forehead. “Forgive me, my nephew,” he said, “I’m not feeling well.”
“Then don’t concern yourself about the woman. What is her problem?”
“Her problem is that the Segu king was very upset to find out he’d lost his job. Before he fled the palace he sacked the royal treasury, of course — that goes without saying. His gang also destroyed all the vital computer records in the capital. The Songhay Republic opened up shop without the slightest idea of how many people they rule or even where the country’s boundaries are. There is no fair basis for taxation, no lists of government employees or descriptions of their duties, and no accurate information concerning the armed forces. Songhay faces immediate catastrophe.”
I understood. “So they sent someone here. They want you to restore order.”
“Without tax revenue, the new government cannot pay its employees or continue normal services. It’s likely that Songhay will soon be paralyzed by general strikes. The army may desert, and then the country will be at the mercy of neighboring nations, if they are any better organized.”
“Why is the woman angry with you, then?”
Papa spread his hands. “Songhay’s problems are not my concern,” he said. “I explained to you that Reda Abu Adil and I divided the Muslim world. This country is in his jurisdiction. I have nothing to do with the Sub-Saharan states.”
“Akwete should have gone to Abu Adil in the first place.”
“Exactly. Youssef gave that message to her, but she screamed and struck the poor man. She thinks we’re trying to extort a higher payment from her and her government.” Papa set down his teacup and searched through the disordered piles of papers on his blankets, selecting a thick envelope and passing it to me with a trembling hand. “This is the background material and the contract she offered me. Tell her to take it to Abu Adil.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. It didn’t sound like dealing with Akwete was going to be much fun. “I’ll talk to her,” I said.
Papa nodded absently. He’d disposed of one minor annoyance, and he was already turning his attention to something else. After a while I murmured a few words and left the room. He didn’t even notice that I’d gone. Kmuzu was waiting for me in the corridor leading from Papa’s private apartment. I told him what Friedlander Bey and I had talked about. “I’m gonna see this woman,” I said, “and then you and I are gonna take a ride out to Abu Adil’s house.”
“Yes, yaa Sidi, but it may be best if I waited for you in the car. Reda Abu Adil no doubt thinks me a traitor.”
“Uh huh. Because you were hired as a bodyguard for his wife and now you look out for me?”
“Because he arranged for me to be a spy in the house of Friedlander Bey, and I no longer consider myself to be in his employ.”
I had known from the beginning that Kmuzu was a spy. I’d just thought he was Papa’s spy, not Abu Adil’s. “You’re not reporting everything back to him?”
“Back to whom, yaa Sidi?”
“Back to Abu Adil.”
Kmuzu gave me a brief, earnest smile. “I assure you that I am not. I am, of course, reporting to the master of the house.”
“Well, that’s all right, then.” We’d gone downstairs, and I stopped outside one of the waiting rooms. The two Stones That Speak stood on either side of the door. They glared menacingly at Kmuzu. Kmuzu glared back. I ignored all of them and went inside. The black woman jumped to her feet as soon as I’d set foot across the threshold. “I demand an explanation!” she cried. “I warn you, as a lawful ambassador of the government of the Songhay Republic—”
I shut her up with a sharp look. “Madame Akwete,” I said, “the message you received earlier was quite accurate. You’ve truly come to the wrong place. However, I can expedite this matter for you. I’ll convey the information and the contract in this envelope to Shaykh Reda Abu Adil, who participated in establishing the Segu Kingdom. He’ll be able to help you in the same way.”
“And what payment will you expect as a middleman?” Akwete asked sourly.
“None whatsoever. It is a gesture of friendship from our house to a new Islamic republic.”
“Our country is still young. We mistrust such friendship.”
“That is your privilege,” I said, shrugging. “No doubt the Segu king felt the same way.” I turned and left the waiting room.
Kmuzu and I walked briskly along the hall toward the great wooden front doors. I could hear Akwete’s shoes echoing behind us on the tiled floor. “Wait,” she called. I thought I heard a hint of apology in her voice.
I stopped and faced her. “Yes, madame?” I said.
“This shaykh… can he do as you say? Or is this some elaborate swindle?”