The closer they came to Great Nairobi, the more towns and villages and farms they encountered. So much so that in recent days Benzamir had been forced to fly higher, simply to avoid detection. It exhausted the carpet, and they had had to walk while it sucked in fierce equatorial sunlight.
It was just before dawn – swift and surprising at those latitudes – and the seat of empire itself was finally visible in the distance, full of sparkling light. Below were lanterns and hearth-fires of the sprawl that fed the city.
‘See?’ said Benzamir. ‘Tomorrow, we’ll see what we can do about getting in and gaining an audience with the emperor. Tonight we’ll sleep in real beds. Right now, I need to land this thing.’
The wind tugging at their clothes lessened its grip, and Benzamir leaned out, looking for somewhere suitable. They circled a field of maize and dropped down into the middle of it. Unripe stalks bent and snapped, and they were down.
Only the strange and unfamiliar sounds of tropical Africa were heard; no voices raised in surprise or anger.
‘Right, everybody off.’
Said fell off backwards and lay amongst the corn stalks, groaning. ‘Another day of this and I swear I’d die.’
‘It was either half a moon of this or spend till the next equinox coming up the Nile by boat. And we know how much you love boats.’ Benzamir tried to stand, only to discover that his legs had gone to sleep. He had to use his hands to manoeuvre his feet from under his body and stretch them out in front of him. ‘You know, in our picture books, all the magicians sit cross-legged for journeys of vast distances. It’s only when you try it yourself that you realize just how impossible that is.’
Wahir, younger and still filled with wonder, leaped up as the sun broached the horizon, pouring heat and light across first the treetops and then the red soil. Said, still lying on his back like a sheep offering its throat for slaughter, grunted: ‘Get down, boy. You’re taller than the plants.’
He ducked down again and laid his hand on the rug-covered book. ‘Can I give this to the emperor when the time comes? Please?’
Benzamir, pins and needles burning in his muscles, shuffled around on his hands and knees to detach the spheres from the corners of the carpet. ‘Of course, Wahir. If you think you can carry it without dropping it.’
‘As long as the emperor doesn’t think I’m a gift too. I remember you saying, back in the desert, about being able to destroy the empire,’ Alessandra started, ‘but did you see it last night? The city is huge, far bigger than Misr. Full of soldiers and spies. I’m afraid even you couldn’t stop His Highness from doing whatever he wanted with any of us.’
‘No, Alessandra. No. I won’t let anyone take you away from me. Trust me.’ Benzamir surprised himself at his vehemence.
‘Oh.’
He shooed her off the carpet, turned it from rigid sheet to flexible fabric, and rolled it up. ‘First things first: we have to find our way out of this field.’
The gates of the citadel of Great Nairobi were monumental, both in size and grandeur. Covered in brass plates, they reflected the orange sun like a furnace. Those entering had to shade their eyes and hide their faces, unconsciously bowing to the edifice.
They had walked all the way, from rural farms along ever more crowded roads. Trees and crops had given way to daub houses, then to stone. Shops and markets, windmills and forges, cloth drying on lines outside dyers, wood-smoke and steam and sweat.
‘This is industry,’ said Benzamir approvingly. The road they were walking along was paved, with a camber to carry away the seasonal rains into deep ditches on either side. The ditch was bridged by stone flags, used by handcarts and people alike, and there was a purposeful clamour all around them.
Neither were they the only foreigners. Black Africans made up the majority, of different peoples and of none. White-robed penitents mixed with locals traders in their oranges and reds, wild-haired herders with bejewelled merchants. There were Arabs too, and mountain folk from the west like the imam in El Alam. Ewers, some paler than Alessandra, walked free without chains or collars.
Above all the sprawling city was the citadel, the beating heart of the Kenyan empire, high on a hill. It didn’t crouch, squat and brooding, but soared upwards, vast ramparts of smooth stone above which peeked towers and roofs.
The emperor was behind those walls, controlling everything, sending out his spies. He had learned the pinnacle of statecraft: knowledge was power. Perhaps that was why he wanted the book that Wahir had tired of carrying and was now clutched by Said in his huge hands. Perhaps not.
To find out, they first had to pass the brazen doors. On either side of them were painted signs, repeating the same information in every conceivable language. Benzamir, master of the spoken word, searched for something he could read.
‘I’m having problems here,’ he said. ‘Said, can you read?’
Said, slack-mouthed and staring up at the citadel, shook himself. ‘I have to confess I never had to learn. In the madrasah we learned our letters and the Qur’an, but not the written word.’
‘Wahir?’
The boy was facing the other way, looking out over the Nairobi sprawl that went on and on until it merged with the sky.
‘Sorry, master.’
‘Can you read?’
‘If my teachers hadn’t beaten me with sticks, I might have. Is it important?’
People drifted between the signs until they found the one they could understand. There were no huge crowds, but most of those who stopped to read the signs seemed to come deliberately to read, and not to enter the citadel. Benzamir watched them: after they’d finished, they turned round and went back down the hill.
‘I’m rather assuming it is important. Otherwise why would they be there? Alessandra? Save the ignorant men from disaster.’
At last she seemed to have conquered her fear. ‘How would you manage without me?’ she said, and scanned the boards until she spotted one in the hand common to Misr.
‘If you read it out loud, I’ll be able to understand all the others,’ said Benzamir. ‘You’ll never have heard of the Rosetta Stone, but it’s the same principle.’
‘Please don’t explain. I’ll get a headache.’ Alessandra cleared her throat and read: ‘By order of His Imperial Majesty Kaisari Yohane Muzorewa and his lawful heirs and successors, no one may enter the imperial palace except with the express permission of His Imperial Majesty or his ministers. Anyone found within the palace without lawful authority will forfeit their lives. Subjects of His Imperial Majesty wishing to petition His Imperial Majesty on matters of law or state must obtain the permission of His Imperial Majesty or his ministers prior to the petition being presented.’ She coughed again. ‘This is all a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?’
‘Does it say anything else?’
‘Hang on. Written by order of His Excellency Yusri Hakeem Misriyyun, representative of the City of Misr El Mahrosa. And some numbers: two thousand, nine hundred and seventy-eight. I don’t know what that means. They seem to be slightly different on all the others.’
‘It’s just the year,’ said Benzamir. ‘Right. The plan is this: we get some letters of introduction made up, written in my native language and Arabic. Then we find out how to get an invitation to an audience with His Imperial Majesty. We can present him with the book, and then . . .’
‘And then what, master?’ asked Said. ‘How do we ask him what he wants the book for without losing our heads?’
‘The emperor won’t tell us,’ said Alessandra. ‘He’ll just thank us for the book, pay us off and push us out of the door.’
‘He won’t have to tell us. I’ve bugged the book.’
‘How will insects help?’
‘Magic. These are special insects that no one can see but will tell me where the book is, what’s being said and even give me a picture of who’s holding it.’