The Old Man chewed the ziza’s mouthpiece. “Where did our Mr. Moso hail from?” He asked.
“There is a village eight miles from the docks,” Iya Siju replied.
“What village is it?” Binta asked.
“Badundu,” Iya Siju said.
A hiss slithered through Jima’s teeth. “There’s a military base there.”
“I thought the base at Badundu was closed,” Binta said, cracking her knuckles. “Ever since Sati-Baa abandoned a military for the constabulary.
“It pretty much is,” Kundo said. “There is a small contingent of soldiers based there. They act as security for the wealthy landowners who live out there. There are three gated communities in Badundu now.”
Mba looked along the table, stopping at Iya Siju. “Come on. You must have Badundu secure. Am I right?” He wiped a broad palm over his sweaty brow. “Nobody in; nobody out?”
“Yes, Captain Mba,” Bande said, drawing his attention. “Our contingency plan has been in place for decades. Since the day the Bacillus Squads were disbanded.”
“Protocol?” Jima burst out. “You’re applying Bacillus protocol to a town?”
“A modified protocol,” Kundo said. “We lock the outbreak down and search for a source of contamination in the local environment. We’re applying it in stages.”
“You bagged Badundu?” Mba said. “Damn, Kundo; and everyone thinks I’m a bastard.”
“It’s too early to apply protocol to a town!” Jima spat. “There will be panic. With only one confirmed case…the rules clearly state...”
“Different time,” Kundo said, his voice firm. “Different rules.”
“One confirmed case from Badundu and two at the docks,” Iya Siju corrected Jima. “We’re scouring the neighborhood and sewers around the furrier building.”
“You bagged a neighborhood near the docks, too?” Mba shook his head and laughed.
“The first-Gnaw Maw was here too long to only have infected two others,” Iya Siju said. “And there is no telling what you’ll find in Badundu.”
“We can’t take any chances,” the Old Man said, his ziza clicking and bubbling between his teeth. “The town must be quarantined.”
“We’re moving things along this quickly to avoid panic,” Kundo said. “If there is more Bacillus, we have to shut it down before it spreads. We must have zero tolerance in this case. It is vital that this outbreak be stopped at the source. Your mission will be no less critical.”
Mba laughed.
“What?” Jima asked.
Mba continued to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Jima hissed.
“A bunch of old folks – Binta, that doesn’t include you, of course – are about to go to war on Bacillus, in a rich town far from metropolitan Sati-Baa, that is patrolled by a military that no longer exists…Daarila definitely has a sense of humor!”
“We all know that,” Jima said. “He created you.”
The room erupted in laughter.
CHAPTER twenty-two
Mba liked working Tiptoe missions back in the day. They always paid extra and you had a lot of leeway carting around all that authority without any direct control from Kundo or his bosses. Tiptoe Squads were sent in whenever they found a high concentration of Bacillus in a densely populated geographic area or town. The Tiptoe Squads were supposed to get in as quietly as they could, take notes, get samples and then make the decision on whether to go to the next stage in the protocol. The idea was that just seeing a Bacillus Squad riding in on their elephants could send people into a tizzy indistinguishable from actual Bacillus manifestation, so going in quietly let the squad look around and make the call from the site before word got out and panic ensued. And if a high concentration was confirmed, the call often involved high-casualty rates among the affected population.
The bureaucrats made their living with red tape. Tiptoe Squads got around it. Of course, autonomy and anonymity often caused greater bloodshed. They would find one or two Gnaw Maws or Burners – sometimes only suspected ones – and they would deal with them harshly before the greater public knew about it; before the outbreak came.
By their nature, Tiptoe Squads were off the grid and it was not unheard of for them to disappear during the course of a ‘Tiptoe’. That kind of collateral damage happened, but not often enough to make ‘tiptoe’ interchangeable with ‘expendable’. And the pay was always good.
Mba walked over to Binta, admiring the flex of her powerful back – and backside – while she bent over some scrolls that sat on a table. She turned when she heard him coming, then posed, muscular and rigid.
“Hard to believe we’re here,” Binta said.
“But here we are,” Mba said.
The bustling din of the docks drew his attention to the stationhouse’s half-open doors. The elephants were due any minute.
Kundo and Jima stood outside, talking or arguing – Mba could not tell which. Jima’s dark presence continued to personify doom and gloom. Jima’s voice cut through Mba’s thoughts. He could not make out what was said, but he could hear the emotion – anger. Jima’s voice rose a bit.
“Damned whiner,” Mba grumbled.
“And you’re a damned winer,” Binta said, bringing her bent fingers to her face as if she was drinking a calabash of wine.
“Funny,” Mba said, with a smirk.
She shook her head and handed him a scroll. Mba squinted at the small writing.
Binta snickered. “Old eyes; I forgot.” She whispered over the scroll. The words on the papyrus doubled in size.
Mba read the names on the scroll, grinning when he realized they had been listed by blade-names. A blade-name was etched on your sword and on the side of your mask. It was a tradition back in the day to pick one – something easy to remember and easy to forget. Your real name was only used on your headstone or if you were a captain. Captains had their full names on their masks and swords. That made it easier to blame you when things went south.
There were twenty constables. He knew that without counting. There were always twenty constables assigned to a Bacillus Squad.
Mba, with scroll in hand, sauntered over to the constables. Binta followed him.
“I am Bacillus Squad Captain Mba Bongo; everyone calls me Captain Mba,” he said. “This is Captain Binta Dambe.”
Mba stared at the scroll, and then looked up at the gathered faces. “I’m not going to say a lot of pretty words about duty or bravery. You all know why you’re here.”
He started reading the names.
“Toy?” Mba said, searching the faces of the young recruits.
A tall man in his early twenties snapped to attention. He had reddish-brown hair, styled into a short afro and the kind of youthful, but ruggedly handsome looks that Mba hated.
“Why did you pick that blade-name?” Mba inquired. “You collect cloth dolls stuffed with ostrich feathers?”
“No, sir,” Toy said. It’s the name of my favorite poem. Toy cleared his throat and began reciting the poem:
“The wagons rumble and roll,
The horses whinny and neigh,
The children each have bows and arrows at their waists.
Their parents run to see them off,
So much dust stirred up, it hides the Kodoko bridge.
They pull clothes, stamp their feet and, weeping, bar the way,
The weeping voices rise straight up and strike the clouds.
A passer-by at the roadside asks a child why,
The child answers only that playtime happens often.
"With our toys, many were sent north to guard the river,
Even at forty, they had to till fields in the west.
When we went away, the elders bound our heads,
Returning with heads white, we're sent back off to the frontier.
At the border posts, shed blood becomes a sea,
The emperor's dream of expansion has no end.
Have you not seen the two hundred districts east of Sati-Baa,
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Where thorns and brambles grow in countless villages and towns?
Although there are strong women to grasp the hoe and the plough,
They grow some crops, but there's no order in the fields.
What's more, we children of Ki Khanga withstand the bitterest fighting,
We're always driven onwards just like dogs and chickens.
Although an elder can ask me this,
How can a child dare to complain?
Even in this winter time,
Children from west of the pass keep moving.
The magistrate is eager for taxes,
But how can we afford to pay?
We know now having boys is bad,
While having girls is for the best;
Our girls can still be married to the neighbors,
Our sons are merely buried amid the grass.
Have you not seen at the docks of Sati-Baa,
The ancient bleached bones no man is gathered in?
The new ghosts are angered by injustice, the old ghosts weep,
Moistening rain falls from dark heaven, screeching; screaming.”
“I’m sorry I asked,” Mba said. He shot a glance at Binta. She frowned.
“Enough of that!” Binta barked. “Captain Mba might care where you get your blade-names; I don’t.” She paused for a second, glaring at Mba. “Unless it bears in some way on your performance in this Bacillus Squad, keep the back-story to yourself. To me, it will simply be the name on your mask; the name on your sword.”
“Indeed,” Mba said, knowing there would be time to talk blade-names when the squad started frogging before a mission. Something caught his eye, he looked past Toy at a tall, well built man with short, black hair. The man’s mask hung by a strap across his chest. Mba could see his tag; it read “Bun Son.”
Mba looked the big man up and down. “Bun-Son…sorry, Captain Dambe, but he has to explain this one.”
Binta shook her head.
“My father worked with you back in the day, sir,” Bun Son’s voice was low. “Constable Kay Koba – blade-name: Buns. My mother sold baked sweets at the market. He would bring some to the stationhouse every day. He used to say you liked his sticky buns.”
The constables snickered. Binta glared them into silence.
Mba thought back. He was barely able to envision Buns’ face. He was tall, Mba remembered and always stooped over the oven in the stationhouse kitchen. His death was bad. Mba could not recall specifics, but something felt heavy in his gut about it. Mba gave Bun Son the twice over; there was something else about him.
“I’m a Bacillus survivor, sir,” Bun Son said, reading Mba’s face. “I manifested in pre-adolescence.”
It was rare for someone to just up and tell others that. There were many reasons to keep it quiet.
“So, can we trust you?” Mba asked.
“Not a monster; just a sex addict sir,” Bun Son said, smiling. “Don’t trust me with your wife.”
“I’m not married,” Mba said.
“Or your mother,” Toy chimed in.
The recruits exploded with laughter.
“Your mother must have made his acquaintance,” Mba said to Toy. “Did she like it?”
“She didn’t complain, sir!” Toy replied.
The recruits laughed again.
Mba was starting to like Toy, despite his pretty face and rubbish poetry. He glanced at Binta. She frowned, but was caught up in the general good humor. She knew how big a risk these idiots were taking. If it got as bad as it could get, many of them would be dead soon.
“Onisako?” Mba read the name on the scroll. He looked up into the face of a young woman who looked too pretty to suffer the horrible death that Mba figured was sure to come. “Onisako Mojiji…the Frog Hag?”
The young woman nodded.
“Why would you choose that name?” Mba asked. “Do you enjoy a chew of iboga every now and again? A sip of honey wine to start off the day?” He hoped the answer was yes; he could use a frog-buddy as lovely as her.
“The story of the Frog Hag was my favorite growing up, Captain Mba,” Onisako said as she straightened her shoulders and flashed her eyes.
“It isn’t just a story,” Mba said. “Recite the story now, keeping in mind that it is real. That it really happened.”
“Right now, sir?” Onisako said.
Mba nodded. “Right now.”
Onisako turned toward her fellow recruits. “I will tell the story as the great djele have always told it; from the point of view of Kiro, the young protagonist.”
She cleared her throat and then began.
“A chill settled over Sati-Baa – the ‘Shining Jewel at the Center of the World’, folks called it. But I called it, simply, ‘home’. Been calling it home ever since I came, kicking and screaming, into this cruel world of the haves and the have-nots. If I was one of the haves, I might have come into the world laughing and dancing. I don’t know, because since I could walk, I’ve worked hard for all that I have ever gotten.
I started working the river with my father in my ninth sun cycle, hauling in fish for my mother’s restaurant. This was my eighth sun cycle in that occupation and, perhaps, my last, as I had seriously contemplated joining the Sati-Baa Constabulary in the next sun cycle, when I was old enough. Chief Constable Boun needed more men and women to help keep order in this bustling burg. Besides, the Chief Constable was my favorite uncle and a pleasure to be around.
Anyhow, I had just finished hauling in my last catch of the day, a spin-fin – nasty creatures, but damn, they taste good – and handed the frightful thing off to my father.
“Good catch, Kiro,” he said. “I’ll make sure this spin-fin is reserved for our dinner table.”
“Hopefully, mother will cook it with some hooligan-peppers,” I said, stepping into my small rowboat.
“I’m sure she will,” my father replied. “The Koku clan loves their food with a lot of kick.”
I nodded and rowed off, heading for home and a few minutes of rest before dinner.
I quickened the pace of my rowing as I neared Saato Pass and the lone house that sat there – a small cabin of twisted and pocked wood, whose sole inhabitant was an old woman, with eyes as dark and piercing as a raven’s and skin like the murky waters of the wetlands in summer. Her name had long been forgotten, but the fear she instilled in the people of Sati-Baa had not.
Screams of agony…screams of utter terror and despair tore across the bitter, evening air.
I docked my boat and crept toward the house, struggling to keep my balance on the moist, red earth. Upon reaching the house, I gingerly pressed my back against the side of it and then shuffled toward its single window. I peered inside. Two men lay on the floor, their bodies twisted at sickening angles; their expressions, masks of suffering. Around them danced a gaunt, squat old woman…the woman whose name had long been forgotten.
I ducked beneath the window and scurried, on all fours, to my boat. I hopped into it, shoved off and rowed furiously. Soon, I neared the bay that led to the Main Constabulary Station, which lay just at the edge of town proper. I docked, leapt from my boat and sprinted up the path leading to the stone double doors of the Main Station.
I placed my palm against the cold stone door to my left and shouted “Koku Kiro!” The enchanted doors, recognizing me as a citizen of Sati-Baa in good standing, slid inward, allowing me entrance.
Uncle Boun met me in the foyer. He reached out his massive arms and embraced me. “Greetings, Kiro! Come to give me your acceptance of a position?”
“No, uncle,” I replied. “I have come to report two murders.”
“Murders! I knew your father would lose it one day,” my uncle spat. “Eating too much spin-fin will do it every time!”
“It wasn’t my father, uncle Boun,” I said. “It was that hag who lives out in Saato Pass. Two men lie dead in her house as she dances around them.”
“Stay here,” uncle Boun ordered. “I’ll take the Elephant Unit out to in
vestigate!”
What followed, I can only go by the accounts of my uncle and the trio of elephant-mounted constables who patrolled the wetlands. They rode out to Saato Pass, their elephants beating craters into the earth as they galloped across the wetlands. Upon arrival at the hag’s house, they found the pair of her victims hanging from a tree like morbid fruit. A shuffling din caught their attention and caused them to look in the direction of the hag, who was sprinting into the shadowy marsh.
The Elephant Unit gave chase, but soon lost sight of her. After a few moments, they heard a low splash in the distance. They followed the noise to a sink hole in the soft earth. Within it was the hag, fighting to keep her head above the surface.
“Help me!” she screamed. “My foot…it is entangled in seaweed!”
“Don’t move,” my uncle commanded. “Let the wetlands have her. It’ll save us the papyrus.”
The hag sank beneath the dark water. A moment later, she wrestled back to the surface.
“I am Onisako Mojiji!” She hissed. This is not the last time you shall see me. In twenty sun cycles to the day, I will arise to take vengeance upon you and your precious Sati-Baa, with great malice and cruelty!”
She then sank into the murky depths, never to rise again.
Today is twenty years to the day and already, I have received several reports of what can only be described as monstrous frogs…twice the size of our unit’s bull-elephants and able to swallow a small rowboat whole. A few of those reports also tell of a gaunt and hideous woman, rising out of the marsh with the frogs and watching their carnage from the shore, dancing and cackling wickedly with glee before vanishing into the shadows of the marsh.”
The recruits – and even Mba and Binta – applauded. The young woman had recited the story perfectly.
“Damn,” Mba said. “Your blade-name should be Djele…or Talks too Damn Much.”
Everyone laughed.
“Jahn?” Mba said, reading another name on the scroll.
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