by Vered Ehsani
In the Underworld, the African god had impressed me with his towering stature; in the human world, he was somehow diminished in height. But in every other regard, he could still out-compete any of the pale-faced hunters currently running amok in Nairobi.
While Death wasn’t as finely proportioned as Yao, he was nonetheless an impressive enough specimen of masculinity to be worthy of some attention. His hair hung past his shoulders in countless braids stained with a red clay dye; many of the braids ended with gold shells which clinked against each other whenever he moved.
Wrapped around his waist was a black-and-red checkered blanket; flung over his shoulders was the pelt of a lion, the jaws of which hovered over the man’s forehead. A leather vest covered most of his muscular chest but left enough to admire. Yet the sulk of his lips reminded me of a spoiled child. Leaning against the plastered stone wall was his spear, the tip of which could hurl lethal bolts at his adversaries.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I enquired, frowning at him. Something wasn’t right, as if a vital part of him was missing.
Death shook his head. “It is never a pleasure for humans to meet me.”
“You’ll hear no argument from me,” I said as I pulled out one of the cushioned wooden chairs and sat across from him. “However, the threat of imminent demise should never result in the loss of manners.”
A reluctant smile curled his full lips, yet he remained lost in his meditations. Glancing at the stove, I noticed a thin stream of steam trickle upward to the ceiling. The scent of burning wood mingled with the perfume of herbs I’d hung from a rafter to dry. Despite the presence of Death, I allowed myself a moment to appreciate the warmth of the kitchen, the texture of the rough flagstone floor, and the orderliness of the copper and iron pots and pans hanging from hooks over the stone countertop.
The silence, while pleasant, caused me to glance to the wooden rafters above and search for Shelby. The young vervet monkey was not there.
“Your deceased husband Gideon escorted the simian to another room,” Death answered my unspoken question. “What an eccentric little beast.”
Frowning, I said, “What, the monkey?”
“No, your husband.”
“Well, as a point of fact, I remarried,” I said, wishing to correct the notion that I was wedded to a ghost. Hoping Gideon wouldn’t overhear us, I lowered my voice. “My current husband, Simon Timmons—”
“Is sitting in a cell in a London prison,” Death interrupted and waved his hand at me. “I am aware of the details, Miss Knight.”
“It’s Mrs. Timmons, actually,” I corrected him, although by now I was acutely aware of the futility. None of my African acquaintances understood the impropriety of using my previous name, or if they did, they didn’t care. Le-Eyo, God of Death, was no exception and, given his fatal profession, I didn’t press the point.
A few moments passed, the seconds marked by the shrill songs of birds and insects. When the kettle whistled, I returned to the stove and selected a tea I had recently acquired from a South African trader. Made from the bark of a red bush, it was thus given the unoriginal name of Rooibos—literally red bush in Afrikaans.
I poured hot water and tea leaves into my engraved metal teapot; the teapot was one of the few mementos I had of my mother. As I waited for the tea to steep, I stared out a window just as a giraffe glided along the stretch of open land between the cottage and the Hardinge house.
“Tea?” I asked.
“If you insist,” Death replied.
“I don’t but I can’t very well resort to rudeness, now can I?” I said as I returned to the table with a tray. Once I’d served the tea, I bolstered my nerves with a sip or two of that most delectable of beverages before continuing my inquiry. “I’m sure you didn’t come here for the tea, as magnificent as my tea blends are. Let me reassure you that I say so with no pride but am only repeating what my customers have told me themselves.”
Sighing, Death set his cup down, the clink of porcelain against porcelain a lonely sound, and lifted his head with a tinkle of shells. “I have lost my throne, Miss Knight. I am no longer God of the Underworld. Death is no more.”
Chapter Three
THE DETHRONING OF a god is no small matter, particularly when the god is involved in harvesting souls. I admit I was tempted to celebrate the news; what human wouldn’t delight in the news that Death had been vanquished? Yet I restrained myself if for no other reason than to avoid being on the receiving end of a bolt of lightning from his spear.
Instead, I opted for a more diplomatic approach. “You seem well enough to me,” I said even as I realized what was different: his brown skin and eyes no longer glowed with a golden sheen.
His eyes narrowed. “Is that another overuse of English manners?”
Shrugging, I shifted in my seat. “Would you prefer I say you look like death?”
“Of course I look like Death,” he said and shook his head, shells clicking together at the end of his braids. “Whom else if not myself? You People of the Fog are a strange species.”
Lifting the teapot, I poured myself another cup of Rooibos tea, for I could tell I would need it if I was going to survive the conversation. “At the risk of appearing inhospitable, why are you in my kitchen?”
“Would you prefer I move to your sitting room?” he asked, standing up as if to remedy his error.
“No,” I said, waving him down. Abandoning all attempts at polite subtlety, I asked, “Why are you here at all? Shouldn’t you be chatting with the powers-that-be regarding your reinstatement?”
Leaning his elbows on the table, Death dropped his face onto his cupped hands, his shoulders slouching. “I can’t,” he mumbled. “Enkai won’t allow me.”
“Should I know who Enkai is?” I asked, sniffing at the red tea.
Peeking through his fingers, Death glared at me. “Enkai is the creator of all that was, is and will be. He created the heavens, the earth, the Underworld and the laws that govern everything.”
“Ah,” I said. “Would you say he’s the supreme deity in the realm of African gods?”
Smacking his hands onto the table, Death said, “He is the supreme deity of all gods, African or not. There’s only room in the universe for one creator.”
“I see,” I said, although I didn’t at all. “My grasp of religious doctrine is somewhat rusty or, more accurately, nonexistent.”
Do not imagine my family was negligent with regard to religious instruction. In fact, they sent me to Sunday school when I was a young child. Dutifully I sat through the first several lessons, and all was well until we reached the chapter about Noah’s Ark. Complications arose when I insisted that werewolves and unicorns must have joined Noah in his ship; after all, how else could they have survived the flood? And what of the fairies and gnomes I saw in the garden? Surely, they must have been given a small flower patch somewhere on that great, big boat?
Eventually, an agreement was reached between the minister and my family: they wouldn’t excommunicate me from the church, and I would never attend class again. The innocent children needed to be protected from my ungodly imagination. For my part, I was more than happy to agree, although my ignorance of such matters wasn’t pleasing to my current visitor.
“At any rate,” I spoke into the silence before it could lengthen any more, “why would this creator, Enkai, remove you from your position?”
Sighing, Death tapped his fingers against the tabletop, glancing around before meeting my gaze. “I broke my own law.”
“I am all astonishment,” I said, remembering how excessively law-abiding Death normally was. “What law would that be?”
“The Law of Death, obviously,” he chided. “I allowed Liongo the warrior-poet to permanently return to the land of the living. Nay, I encouraged him to do so.”
“And he caused all sorts of difficulties for us,” I said, remembering the night Liongo attacked the Hardinge Estate with an army of skeletons and a giant, one-eyed crocodile.
&
nbsp; “That’s not the point,” Death said, frowning at me. “By breaking my law, I broke the circle of life and death.”
“And I’m sure the living will be forever grateful to you for doing so,” I reassured him.
“Foolish mortal!” he roared and thumped a fist upon the table, causing the teacups to rattle in their saucers. “Creatures will still die. They just won’t stay dead. Starting in Nairobi, where I am currently residing, the recently dead will return. With the passing of every full moon, the sphere will expand until death is no more. Lawlessness will spread in ever-widening ripples. After several moons, there will be no place in this world where the dead will remain in their graves.”
After pondering the vision of such a world, I said, “That could get messy. And I do abhor a mess.”
“Then you’ll assist me,” Death said, leaning toward me, his eyes wide.
“Ah,” I said, fiddling with my cup.
“You must,” he insisted. “It’s only a brief visit to the Sky Kingdom where Enkai resides. Once there, I can convince him. He’s still upset with me but I’m sure he can overcome his grudge once he witnesses the chaos my banishment can produce.”
There was a number of issues with Death’s statement. I decided to focus on only one: “How do we reach the Sky Kingdom?”
Smiling at what he assumed was my capitulation to his plan, Death sank back in his chair. Waving a hand as if to dismiss the details as inconsequential, he said, “It’s a trifle, really. First, we will need to find a guide to lead us. Then, to reach the Sky, it is only a matter of climbing a silk rope.”
“And where will we find this rope?”
“We don’t find it,” Death said and chuckled at my ignorance. “It must be created. And there is only one creature who is skilled enough and large enough to spin such a rope: the master spinner of webs, the Trickster God Anansi, the greatest spider that ever was.”
Chapter Four
AT THE MENTION of the elephant-sized spider, I was unable to contain my emotions, as evidenced in my groan and the sagging of my shoulders.
“Are you unwell, Miss Knight?” Death asked, his hand reaching out to touch my metal one.
“You are quite certain we require Anansi’s assistance to reach the Sky?”
“Yes, it is as I said. We can’t fly that high. Only Anansi’s spider silk can reach there.” He paused, flinging his head so that his long, ochre-stained braids hung over the back of the chair. “We’ll also need a storm spirit to assist us. They know the Sky very well.” Glancing at me, he asked, “Are you acquainted with Kam?”
“Please tell me you’re not serious,” I moaned and gulped down my tea.
“I’m always serious,” Death said, pursing his lips and studying me. “We need Kam, God of Lightning, to join us on our journey.”
I held up a finger. “Your journey. I haven’t agreed to go.”
“You will.”
The finality of his tone irked me. The fingers of my metal hand twitched as my werewolf energy stirred in response. “And why’s that?”
Leaning forward, Death said, “Neither Kam nor Anansi like me.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I muttered.
“But they have some consideration for you; at least, they like you well enough not to kill you, and so they might listen to you,” he continued. “They’ve helped you before. And without you to persuade them to cooperate with me, I won’t succeed.”
“I rather like the sound of that,” I said.
Before Death could reply, a bundle of fur bounded into the room and attached itself to my neck. The young vervet monkey alternately hissed at Death while chattering to me.
“Shelby, do behave,” I said even as I smiled at her boldness in the face of Death.
The monkey had hairless, pale pink skin on her face, ears and palms which had yet to darken to the charcoal black of adulthood. Her dark eyes were prominent and had within their depths an intelligent glimmer. The ears jutted out, twitching with every swallow. A white fringe surrounded the little face while her overall color was light gray. Her delicate fingers pawed at my cheek.
“Why do you allow that vermin around your neck, Miss Knight?” Death asked, sneering at the monkey who growled in return.
“It’s not vermin,” a whispery voice answered. “It’s a vervet.”
Gideon floated into the room, followed by Yao. They both glared at Death.
“Gentlemen,” I said, using the word in its loosest definition, “I’m rather busy right now.” I gestured to the scowling god.
“Forget about Death,” Yao said, stretching his arms up to touch a wooden rafter. The pose displayed his physique and his lack of appropriate attire. An ochre-stained leather skirt was hardly sufficient to cover his muscular torso and limbs.
“That’s rather difficult to manage when he’s sitting in my kitchen,” I said. “Could you please put on more clothes?”
His eyebrows scrunched together. “Yao could but why?” he asked. “Yao’s not cold. And Miss Knight, we need to negotiate with Jonas.” Glancing at the sullen god sitting at my kitchen table, he whispered, “You know why. Don’t tell him though.”
“I can hear you,” Death said, his eyes narrowing.
“Stop provoking him,” I chastised the Adze. “And we can’t very well leave him here unattended.”
“Yes, we can,” Yao insisted. “Shelby can keep him company.”
The monkey squawked and hissed at both Africans.
“Don’t even consider abandoning her,” Gideon ordered as he descended from the ceiling. “That hooligan of a god might zap her with his spear.”
“I can still hear you,” the god said.
Gideon continued his rant. “Then how would you feel, Beatrice? You’d miss her terribly.”
“Not really,” I muttered. As Gideon’s wrath-filled countenance appeared before me, I hastened to amend my statement. “Of course, I’d miss the little monkey.”
“Miss Knight,” Yao whined.
“What’s his issue?” Death snapped as he glowered at the vampire.
Gideon grinned, ignoring Yao’s frantic head shaking. “He’s asked Beatrice to assist him in negotiating a bride price. He wants to marry Jonas’ daughter, Wanjiru. Oops, did I say something wrong?”
Death stood up and placed his fists on the tabletop. The shells at the end of his braids tinkled pleasantly in contrast to his scowling frown and darkening glare. “That tick on the backside of a water buffalo wishes to wed the beautiful Wanjiru?” he growled.
Yao gulped as he backed away from Death. “At least we agree on one thing,” he said.
“That you’re a tick?” Gideon asked.
“That Wanjiru is beautiful. And Yao would never, ever bite the backside of a buffalo,” he reassured us. “Nasty creatures. But Wanjiru is—”
Before Yao could launch into poetic drivel regarding the radiant beauty of his beloved, I interrupted him. “This conversation shall have to wait. So where are you staying now that you no longer live in the Underworld?” I asked Death.
Shrugging, he stared at me. “Here.”
“Really?” As I returned his stare, I struggled to devise a convincing argument against such a terrible idea. From the desperate determination evident in Death’s countenance, I realized the futility of the matter. “Then we shall have to go to town.”
“Why?” Yao asked.
Pushing against the table, I stood and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I need to escort our guest to the office of John Ainsworth, the Chief Native Commissioner.”
“Guest?” Yao squeaked. “Is he really staying?”
Sighing, I said, “For now, I suppose.”
“But he’s an unwanted guest, correct?” Yao asked. “We should ask him to leave.”
Death reached for his spear, his glare fixed on the Adze.
“No, we shouldn’t,” I said, wondering if I could escape the kitchen before Death blew it into little chunks of rock and mortar.
“I’m not going anywhere,
” Death said, banging the end of his spear against the stone floor with each word spoken.
Ignoring him, I settled my hat to cover my right ear which bore the scars of werewolf bites. “Gideon, stay here and keep the firefly out of mischief.”
“But Yao likes mischief,” Yao complained, crossing his arms across his chest. “And Yao is good at it.”
“Le-Eyo,” I continued, turning to face the dethroned God of Death. “We do in fact need to go. The Nairobi Committee is requiring all natives—that is, Africans—to register their names and other details.” I paused, waiting until Death shifted his attention to me. “It’s the law.”
“Is it?” He studied me, searching perhaps for any suggestion of dissemblance. As there was none, he straightened up. “If that is the case, then let us honor the Native Commissioner with my presence.”
I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or disappointed that Death still possessed a peculiar compulsion to obey the law in whatever form it took, and however ridiculous and insulting it may be. Meanwhile, I reflected, tours of European hunters came and went, decimating the local wildlife and the stores’ liquor stock, and none of them needed to register. Scowling at the sheer stupidity of life, I collected my walking stick and led the way out the kitchen through the back door.
“And Yao?” the vampire asked as he followed us outside. Unlike European versions, African vampires were not negatively affected by the sun; the unfortunate consequence of this inconvenient fact was that Yao could be anywhere at any time. “Yao hasn’t visited the Commissioner.”
“Then you must accompany us,” Death said, sweeping his arms as if to embrace everyone present.
Gideon grinned and said, “This should be fun.”
Chapter Five
JONAS ARRIVED FROM town just as we were leaving and insisted on accompanying me to the Registrar’s office.
“Me, I don’t trust any of them,” he said, flicking a hand at Death and Yao. “It’s deadly company you keep, Miss Knight.”