he jumped into the river."
She ran across to Msavitar, pulling him up. He tried to speak, but exhaustion only allowed a gasping, "Gone? Gone…?"
"Yes, he's gone," Nshalla said excitedly. "You won the duel! Well done. But who was he?"
Msavitar tottered away from her. "I must rest in my room," he said.
Nshalla helped him there. Inside all was chaos. He was untidy. She laid him down on his bed and dragged a blanket over him, then brought him a gourd of water. "Who was he?" she asked again.
"I do not know—"
Despite his fatigue she gripped him by the chin and repeated her question.
"Gracious lady, I swear on my honour that I do not know."
Nshalla spoke just centimetres from his face. "I saw the whole duel. You're from Accra, and so was the man who challenged you. You knew him just as you know your mother. Now who was he?"
Msavitar thrashed about under his blanket. "I swear—"
Through gritted teeth Nshalla said, "I think you attacked us with that static-box. You did, didn't you? Answer me!"
"Static-box? I have no such device. By all the sacred spirits, why would I attack you, then join you? I have had ample opportunity to murder you during our trek from Ashanti, but I have not. See reason, oh, I beg you!"
This was a fair point. Nshalla released him and walked once around his cabin. She knew she was right. She locked the door and returned to the bed.
"I am a simple guide," he whimpered, grinning the obsequious grin.
"You know who he was," Nshalla retorted. "I know you know. Never forget that, Msavitar, if that is your real name. I am an educated lady of Accra who knows many things. I may be young and inexperienced at journeying, but I'm no fool. You lie to me at your peril."
"But—"
"If you're one of my mother's agents, well… there'll be a price to pay. D'you understand that?"
He nodded, the grin frozen on his face.
She left him shuddering.
~
From Bolgatanga Bridge they walked north, following the single row of eyes that marked the way. In the evening, thinking they heard the sound of gunfire from the hills ahead, they tapped into the local optical network to discover that a civil war was raging around the town, on one side the elected chief of the vicinity, on the other a group of Baptist Militants armed, rumour had it, with chemical weapons salvaged from tips created in an earlier century by the lords of the West. This sounded perilous. Gmoulaye looked at the gleaming maps laid out on Msavitar's transputer screen and suggested they circle westward, using bush copses as cover.
Msavitar pointed out the rest of the way. Five villages and towns lay between them and Ouagadougou. Looking at the green disk that symbolised Ouagadougou, Gmoulaye shivered. "It is in a forest," she said. "It will be full of the spirits of the afterlife."
"Don't worry," Nshalla carelessly replied. "We'll be fine."
Gmoulaye grunted in response and, as if sulking, repeatedly thumped the point of her deadwood staff into the soil.
So they trekked on. Sleep that night was disturbed by the thunk of shells, the scream of phosphor flares. The velvet black night sky was tainted with smoky trails of red, yellow, and brown. Gmoulaye insisted that they sleep in a hollow dug out by giant bush rats, so that marauding horsemen did not spot their fire and attack. This meant they slept uncomfortably close to one another, but it was necessary. Msavitar curled up into a ball like a jerboa, but Nshalla liked to stretch her arms and legs; here she could not. She grumbled the most.
By the evening of the next day they made Gavrango. It was deserted. Hyenas ran chuckling through lines of mud huts, and everywhere flapping rubbish rustled in the breeze.
Next day they passed through the village of Pago. The locals were goatherds, though they grew fields of millet, okra, and some yams, and they looked at the travellers with suspicious eyes. Even Gmoulaye did not want to stay. Later that day they made Po, a large village surrounded by a corral, but they
She ran across to Msavitar, pulling him up. He tried to speak, but exhaustion only allowed a gasping, "Gone? Gone…?"
"Yes, he's gone," Nshalla said excitedly. "You won the duel! Well done. But who was he?"
Msavitar tottered away from her. "I must rest in my room," he said.
Nshalla helped him there. Inside all was chaos. He was untidy. She laid him down on his bed and dragged a blanket over him, then brought him a gourd of water. "Who was he?" she asked again.
"I do not know—"
Despite his fatigue she gripped him by the chin and repeated her question.
"Gracious lady, I swear on my honour that I do not know."
Nshalla spoke just centimetres from his face. "I saw the whole duel. You're from Accra, and so was the man who challenged you. You knew him just as you know your mother. Now who was he?"
Msavitar thrashed about under his blanket. "I swear—"
Through gritted teeth Nshalla said, "I think you attacked us with that static-box. You did, didn't you? Answer me!"
"Static-box? I have no such device. By all the sacred spirits, why would I attack you, then join you? I have had ample opportunity to murder you during our trek from Ashanti, but I have not. See reason, oh, I beg you!"
This was a fair point. Nshalla released him and walked once around his cabin. She knew she was right. She locked the door and returned to the bed.
"I am a simple guide," he whimpered, grinning the obsequious grin.
"You know who he was," Nshalla retorted. "I know you know. Never forget that, Msavitar, if that is your real name. I am an educated lady of Accra who knows many things. I may be young and inexperienced at journeying, but I'm no fool. You lie to me at your peril."
"But—"
"If you're one of my mother's agents, well… there'll be a price to pay. D'you understand that?"
He nodded, the grin frozen on his face.
She left him shuddering.
~
From Bolgatanga Bridge they walked north, following the single row of eyes that marked the way. In the evening, thinking they heard the sound of gunfire from the hills ahead, they tapped into the local optical network to discover that a civil war was raging around the town, on one side the elected chief of the vicinity, on the other a group of Baptist Militants armed, rumour had it, with chemical weapons salvaged from tips created in an earlier century by the lords of the West. This sounded perilous. Gmoulaye looked at the gleaming maps laid out on Msavitar's transputer screen and suggested they circle westward, using bush copses as cover.
Msavitar pointed out the rest of the way. Five villages and towns lay between them and Ouagadougou. Looking at the green disk that symbolised Ouagadougou, Gmoulaye shivered. "It is in a forest," she said. "It will be full of the spirits of the afterlife."
"Don't worry," Nshalla carelessly replied. "We'll be fine."
Gmoulaye grunted in response and, as if sulking, repeatedly thumped the point of her deadwood staff into the soil.
So they trekked on. Sleep that night was disturbed by the thunk of shells, the scream of phosphor flares. The velvet black night sky was tainted with smoky trails of red, yellow, and brown. Gmoulaye insisted that they sleep in a hollow dug out by giant bush rats, so that marauding horsemen did not spot their fire and attack. This meant they slept uncomfortably close to one another, but it was necessary. Msavitar curled up into a ball like a jerboa, but Nshalla liked to stretch her arms and legs; here she could not. She grumbled the most.
By the evening of the next day they made Gavrango. It was deserted. Hyenas ran chuckling through lines of mud huts, and everywhere flapping rubbish rustled in the breeze.
Next day they passed through the village of Pago. The locals were goatherds, though they grew fields of millet, okra, and some yams, and they looked at the travellers with suspicious eyes. Even Gmoulaye did not want to stay. Later that day they made Po, a large village surrounded by a corral, but they
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