“The attack last night was hardly silent,” Babatunde said. “Precise, yes. Intended to deprive us of a great mind, and also to warn us. The precision is what disturbs me…. it implies not only a political motive, but accurate information about the affairs of this house.” He gazed at them thoughtfully. “And from where, I wonder, does that information come?”
As Kai entered Lamiya’s bedroom, Bitta, sitting on a hassock in the corner, came instantly and alertly to her feet. His First reclined against a mountain of pillows, reading the Qur’an for the nineteenth time: once a year, every year, since her eighth birthday. “Husband?” she said anxiously. “It is you?”
“None other.”
Lamiya placed the sacred text on her bed-stand. “You may go,” she said to her companion. Bitta nodded once to the imperial niece, once to the Wakil, and left the room.
“Ah.” Lamiya sighed when the door closed behind Bitta. “I had begun to wonder if you would keep to your rooms this evening. It is good to see you.”
He shook his head. “I felt the need for your company.”
“And I for yours. The events of the last hours frighten me … the murder, the suicide, an attack in our own home.”
“Yes. Calculated to make us cautious, not so eager to back secession. And to remove a valuable ally.” He shook his head. “Poor Maputo. I trust that Allah has shared those secrets Master Kokossa sought most keenly.”
She extended a slender hand, caressed his cheek. “These waters run deep, Kai.”
“No deeper than your eyes.” He leaned toward her, and she pushed him away.
“No,” she said. She held his hands tightly, commandingly, and locked eyes with him as if she would communicate by force of will alone. “Listen to me, Husband. You must understand: no matter what you do now, your enemies will make play of it. If you act, you are rash. If you do not, you are a coward. If you enlist followers, you are dragging your friends to hell. If you act alone, you have no trust in your companions.”
Kai pressed his palms against his temples. “My head hurts.”
“These are the waters your father hoped you would avoid. You should have been a scholar, perhaps a shaykh. Instead, you are in a world where nothing is as it seems.”
“Are you as you seem?” he asked.
“What do you see?”
Kai gazed into her eyes. “I see a woman raised from birth to a role, told only that she must obey those who raised her, who took a chance on a young man who needed her more than he needed food, or water, or air.”
“And what kind of woman is that?”
“One easy to underestimate.”
“Would such a woman make a mistake?” she asked. “Choose the wrong man?”
“I hope not.”
She opened her arms to him, and Kai went to her. They held each other, gently, with warmth but without passion, until fatigue overtook them and they slid to separate sides of the bed to sleep, the soles of their legs still touching, occasionally rising close enough to wakefulness for their legs to intertwine, their lips to murmur sleepy endearments.
But for the greater part, they slept.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
For the interminable week following her father’s funeral, Chifi had not strayed from the workshop. Kai and Fodjour rode down to the harbor to visit, to attempt to draw her out. As they entered the workshop, Kai felt saddened, remembering the hours of pleasure he had spent here with Babatunde or his father. All was silence and darkness now, and the world outside his doors seemed a quieter, less joyous place as well.
Sallah Mubutu met them at the door, and welcomed them in. Kai was gladdened to see that the little man had made himself useful in the months since coming to Kokossa’s shop. Kai had been paying attention to see that his little experiment worked. Sallah Mubutu’s skills as a machinist were even greater than he had represented at court. Swiftly, Sallah had become indispensable.
To Kai’s eye, Chifi seemed not to have slept, or bathed. Or perhaps even eaten.
“I am sorry for your loss,” Kai said, “and ashamed that I was unable to kill them all.”
“Death would not have brought my father back.” Chifi’s face was an icy mask. “But the sound of their screams might have driven the emptiness from my heart.”
To that, or to the cold gleam in her eyes, Kai had no answer at all.
“I understand,” said Fodjour. “None of us can feel what you, feel. But Chifi, though he had a single child, you are not alone in mourning. He was a man of singular brilliance. No empire can survive the loss of men such as Kokossa.”
Kai nodded. “I hate to think that our enemies—his enemies—will profit by his death.”
She turned away from him, as though speaking to the wall. “They need not,” she said.
“I see no other way. The designs are unfinished.”
“They can be finished,” she said.
Kai shook his head.
“Allah has not blessed us with two minds such as the one that created these patterns,” said Fodjour.
“Perhaps that is true.”
“Then…?” said Kai.
“What if that mind still lives?” Chifi whispered.
Fodjour studied her more carefully. “What do you say?”
“Things are not always as they seem,” she said carefully. “You have often said, Kai, that the world is not its maps. That one must be careful not to be deceived by appearances.”
When Kai spoke next, he chose his words with exquisite care. “Had your father some need to promote a deception?”
“Tell me, Kai. How much money went into his … our programs?”
Kai wanted to hold his breath. “Perhaps ten thousand Alexanders.”
“Why?” she pressed.
“Because your father was extraordinary.”
“Yes,” she said. “A man of genius. What if he had not been?”
“A genius?” asked Fodjour.
“No,” said Kai, comprehension dawning. “A man.”
“What…?”
“What if he had been a woman,” said Kai. “A girl?”
“Yes,” said Chifi. “Like Kyanfuma. Who gave so much to the world, and was burned for it?”
Suddenly, the air seemed peculiarly hot and heavy. “Allah preserve us.”
“You speak nonsense,” said Fodjour.
“Tell me, Fodjour,” she said in a flat, calm voice, “that the deception was not necessary. Tell me that if my father had gone to the great men who guide our great country and said, ‘Honored sirs, my eleven-year-old daughter came to me with a dream, and when I turned that dream into steel it surpassed anything I had ever made for you.’”
“The Tortoise,” Kai whispered.
“If he had come to them and said, ‘My daughter dreams of a ship of iron, that no ship’s cannon can pierce, and has drawn plans worthy of that dream.’” Chifi was slowly working herself into a slow frenzy, barely seeming to remember that she was speaking to them. “‘My daughter, who I bounced upon my knee, has dreamed of a war in which men might tear other men to bloody bits behind the safety of steel, and has made a design to implement these dreams.’ Tell me, dear Fodjour, brave Kai, what would they have answered?”
“They would have laughed,” said Kai. “And tightened their purses.”
There was a pause in which no one spoke. “So there you have it. And here I stand. They killed my father. They should have slain the daughter. It was I who dreamed of war, not he.”
She collapsed against her father’s oaken desk, eyes red-rimmed now.
“Chifi…,” said Kai. “If what you say is true, the Empress’s court might be a better place for you.”
She looked up at them. Her black eyes were as hot and merciless as flaming gun-sights. In that moment he wondered if Chifi was wholly sane.
“They murdered my father to stop my mind. Would you hide, Kai?” Her gaze, her tone was savage. “Fodjour?”
“No,” said Kai. “But I—”
“Am a man?” she
finished for him.
“Yes.”
“Then think of me no longer as a woman. Take my breasts, and unsex me here. I am nothing but mind and will. I will not mourn my father until his slayers are consumed by pigs.”
“Chifi…?” said Kai. “What are you saying?”
She took a knife and cut away her braid, the symbol of her gender and maidenhood, unsevered since childhood. It fell to the floor, just a few kites of dead, useless tissue. “Think of me no longer as a woman. Or as a friend. I am your weapon, Kai. Use me.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Every county in New Djibouti territory had its own seat, where representatives from the leading families converged to hear discussion and debate of the day’s pressing issues, as well as decide what their representatives might say to the Senate in Radama, or ultimately in the Great Senate in New Alexandria.
Its central chambers were nestled in the city of Natchez, a day’s ride east of Dar Kush. A steam-dragon spur ran between Djibouti Harbor and Natchez, but Kai and Chifi chose to take a carriage with a regimental honor guard. Although not so impressive as Radama, the county seat was a Moorish-style confection of brick and tinted glass, larger than most office buildings in Djibouti Harbor.
As he had only thrice previously, Kai stood before his Djiboutan peers. “I would like to introduce to this august body the true innovator of the Tortoise design—Chifi Kokossa!” Chifi stood, hands clasped before herself modestly, head respectfully veiled.
“What jest is this?” Councilman N’Guy charged. “Wakil, we come because you say you have important words for us. But in the wake of our great friend’s death, what manner of strangeness have you placed before us?”
“Bring your engineers, Councilman,” he said. Frankly, Kai found the councilman as great a boor as his wife. “Ask any question you wish of her. You will see the truth in my words.”
“This is intolerable. We need no outside advisor to share our embarrassment.” N’Guy turned to Chifi. “Girl, who has put you up to this?”
“No one has put me up to anything,” she said. “I have my own mind.”
“Do you indeed?” There was a bit of rumbling.
“Councilman Rouman? Would you care to resolve this?”
A rotund, sharp-eyed man stood. “Young lady,” he said. “You contend that the ironclad was your invention?”
“Mine, yes,” she replied.
“Then when I spoke to your father of my concerns about the pressure seals, he was merely parroting back answers you had supplied him?”
She pressed her lips together. “I find that disrespectful. My honored father needed parrot nothing. He had a mind of his own. Sirs, if I see potentials that others do not, my father still was the one who taught me the physics and dynamics of the world.”
He harrumphed, politely covering his smile with a hand. “I apologize. Well. There are answers that your father gave me that you might repeat by rote. I then propose a simple test.”
“I stand prepared,” she said.
“Do you indeed? Well. A concern for the construction of an ironclad, raised since my last conversation with your father, has to do with the composition of seals protecting the propeller shaft.”
After a pause, Chifi began to answer. “The difficulty had to do with the acquisition of materials capable of retaining flexibility during innumerable cycles of heat and cooling. The answer was discovered in a variety of Indian rubber.”
“This substance had the desired durability?”
“Not in its natural form, no.”
“So how was it to be strengthened?” asked N’Guy.
“A simple process devised almost a century ago, involving the addition of sulfur to the heated rubber. Frankly, I am disappointed that your question is so elementary.”
The room rumbled with whispers.
“But—”
Chifi’s back seemed to stiffen. “Any who wish to question me further need only take horse or dragon to the machine shop. There you can see and question anything you wish. But if you are not willing to take this trip, no verbal answer can convince you.”
Councilman Rouman gestured expansively. “No. That will not be necessary. I think we can agree that Kokossa’s daughter was, at the least, integrally involved in the creation of his latest devices.”
Another rumble.
“Then you will—” Chifi began excitedly.
“—which explains the somewhat bizarre nature of these supposed inventions. A submersible? A ship made more of iron than wood? These were thought the delusions of a declining intellect. I now see that they were the result of an indulgent parent risking his own reputation as well as—”
“But sir—” Chifi raised her hands imploringly, but the damage was already done, their prejudice and her haughtiness had turned the momentum against her.
“As well as the safety of his country—”
“And the gold of his patrons!” said another.
“—on a spinster’s fantasies. This must be brought to an end, and now!”
She looked up at the men, chewing at her lip. “They killed my father,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I can help.”
“That will be all, sitta-t.”
“But—”
“That will be all.”
Chifi left, tears streaking her cheeks.
How ironic, Kai thought in disgust, that it is a woman who insists on preparation for war, while the men sue for peace.
“Well, young Wakil,” said Rouman. “I hope you are proud.”
“No,” said Kai. “In fact I have seldom been more ashamed. Madame Kokossa’s father was murdered, and you deny her the right granted any commoner to serve her country and avenge him. She warned me that this would be your response. It is obvious what this concerns.”
Kai gripped at the edge of the podium. “Good day, honored sirs. And I hope that in the coming days, you have no cause to regret your shortsightedness.”
Kai left the room, ignoring the shouts of “Sidi!” behind him. He caught up with Chifi in the hall outside. Tears streaked her face, and her fists were knotted and trembling. He tried to put his arm around her, but she pushed him away.
“Chifi,” Kai said, searching for words that might comfort. None came. “War hovers all around us, and these idiots sit with their heads in the sand as the great flightless birds are said to do.”
“I would put my hands around the throats of every one of them “
Her eyes blazed with challenge.
“So. What will you do now?”
“Go home,” she said, and lowered her head. “And close my father’s lab.”
He was saddened, but not wholly surprised to hear her say that.
Then she slowly raised her face and locked eyes with him. “Then, with your permission, I will move it to Dar Kush.”
“What?” For a moment his head spun. What in the world…?
“Kai,” she said, and then amended her thought. “Wakil. I came here not for myself, but for you. For you to see the reality I have faced every day of my life. You operate under the illusion that men hold the power for the protection of women. As you probably were raised thinking that slavery was good for the slaves.”
Kai flinched.
“Now,” she said, “while your eyes are open, I make you a business proposition. My honored father made thousands of Alexanders, and lost them continually reinvesting in his work. But you know this ship can work. And that if we can prove it, our countrymen will want more than we can build.”
“Chifi—”
“Listen to me!” she said in a fierce, low voice. “I ask no charity. Or for your assistance in revenge. I offer you half the value of my father’s patents. The differential gear alone will make you a hundred Alexanders a year. Help me, Wakil. You are the only one who can.”
She looked up at him, so small and feral, like some kind of forest creature. She would have him build this device, would have him set himself against his companions, so that she might have her reveng
e …
And continue her father’s dream. And protect her country.
And use the precious talents Allah had seen fit to give her. She had not asked for the mind that could dream such dreams. Genius came in its own time and place, and answered to no force save heaven. She was one of Allah’s miracles, and she had asked him to see it, acknowledge it.
What would Abu Ali, his father, have done?
What would Babatunde do?
“I know exactly what my father would do,” Kai said slowly, and she looked up at him, eyes suddenly fearful.
“I was but a child when your honored father died,” she said rapidly. “He never saw—”
He raised a finger, and smiled. “He would back Maputo’s work—your work—with his own fortune, trusting that when his country saw the worth of it, he would either be repaid, or not.” He took her shoulders. “Chifi,” he said, “Let us make history together. I will back your device, and when our country comes calling and wishes a thousand Tortoises, we are the ones who they must pay. They will own nothing of the plans or the processes. We will serve our country, gain our vengeance, and you will become wealthy in the process.”
Her eyes blazed. Again, he was a bit taken aback by her intensity.
“You would do this for me?”
“And for the memory of your father, whom I loved.” He stopped, and then added softly, “And for my daughters, that they might know a woman of your caliber.”
She spat in her hand and extended it. He clasped, surprised by the strength in her small hand, but more disturbed by her expression.
On Chifi s face was the palest, most arctic smile he had ever seen.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Additional steam-screws and sail-ships had arrived in the harbor, and as they crowded the water, it seemed that Djiboutan resolve was deadlocked in argument. Most maintained, at least publicly, that the ships were merely preparing for a strike against the Aztecs. Kai and others believed it was nothing more or less than a naked show of force.
This was a high-stakes game of satranj, and Kai wished that Elenya was present to speak to about the positioning of pieces before striking.
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