Lion's Blood

by Steven Barnes

  Please, she pled silently. Someone stop it.

  No one answered, no one moved—

  Except the Wakil. Abu Ali swung down from his mount, and as the townsman began his next downstroke onto a bleeding face, Abu Ali grabbed his whip hand.

  "Hold!" he cried. "Is this your man?"

  The townsman was as tall as the Wakil, but thinner. In any other context he might have seemed fierce and frightening, but face-to-face with Abu Ali, he seemed frail. "What business is it of yours?"

  Abu Ali lowered his voice, so that Sophia could barely hear it. "I have had a long ride. My temper is short, shorter perhaps than yours. If he is not your man, you have no right to damage another's property. And if this is a town where one may strike others at will, perhaps I will try my own hand."

  The townsman glared at Abu Ali, but the Wakil's gaze was strong. After a long hesitation, the townsman backed down. His voice turned plaintive. "But this blue-eyed baboon ruined my pants—"

  Without breaking eye contact with him for an instant, Abu Ali opened his purse, extracted a gold coin, and tossed it to him. The townsman snatched it from the air.

  "Here," he said. "Have them cleaned."

  The townsman glared, but bit the coin. Sophia watched his eyes widen a bit at the denomination: it was gold enough to buy three such pairs of pants. Without another word, he scurried along as if afraid the Wakil might change his mind. Abu Ali helped the cringing slave to his feet.

  The slave bent deeply, tried to press his lips against the Wakil's feet. "Thank you. Allah bless you, sir."

  Abu Ali helped him up. "Be more mindful about your tasks," he said.

  "Yes, sir."

  Abu Ali returned to his mount. "Well done, Father," Kai said.

  "I don't expect my horse to sing or my slaves to think. Allah has granted each a stout back, and I am content with that." Abu Ali rubbed his ample belly. "Coping with fools gives me an appetite. Come, let's eat. I have heard good things about the Empress restaurant." He called to his black attendants. "Majir, Kabwe," he said to two black retainers, "tie up the horses and find us rooms for the night, then join us inside. Aidan—you and Sophia will be cared for in the back."

  Watching the entire encounter had been frightening, and more than a little exciting. Had the Wakil interceded to save a boy's hide, or only another man's property? Perhaps a bit of both?

  Kai leaned over to Sophia and patted her arm. "You'll be fine," he said. . "What?" she asked, pulled out of her reverie.

  "In the restaurant kitchen. They will care for you there."

  Sophia smiled broadly and nodded, as if Kai had read her mind.

  Kai guessed that the Empress was Ababa's finest and most luxuriant eatery. His father ordered an acceptable combination of shrimp-based yeassa-wote, rich with pepper, cinnamon, and cloves, and heaps of yedinicb-selata salad, tart with onion and lemons. His children and their four freeborn retainers ate while continuing the friendly debate that had begun in the street.

  "The question is not whether it is right to own slaves," Abu Ali said. "There have always been slaves. The question is: how does one witness to Allah at all times? La Ilaha ill Allah."

  Ali seemed doubtful. "But you allow our slaves to be beaten," he said.

  "Only to correct them, that they might serve us better, and in serving us, serve Allah as well." He turned to Elenya. "Pass me the figs, please?"

  She did so, and as she did glanced at the wall. Upon it was a picture of the Empress of Abyssinia and her royal family. Lamiya was one of the images, and Elenya spanked her hands together smartly. "Kai, Ali, look! It's Lamiya!" The painting must have been made when Lamiya was only eight or nine: a pointy-nosed, wide-eyed urchin with a perpetually mischievous smile, adorned in silver robes.

  When Kai saw it, he winced a bit. Worse, Ali noticed him.

  "A poor likeness," Ali said. "Lamiya is far more beautiful."

  Abu Ali nibbled at a date. "When she returns, she will be ready to wife. I hope you are ready for the duties of husbanding."

  Ali gave a slightly shy smile, an expression that Kai rarely saw on his brother's face. For a moment, he looked more boy than man. "What was your wedding day like, Father?"

  Abu Ali leaned back into the deep cushions of the booth and sighed with deep satisfaction. "Your mother was so beautiful a hundred veils could not conceal it. Too beautiful for Allah to allow in this world. She made the sun and the moon jealous." He closed his eyes, slipping into the memory easily. "There is no man who has ever loved his love more than I did that day. Allah grant my work in this world swiftly done, that we might be together again soon."

  Aidan sat on the porch at the Empress's back door, savoring the aromas drifting from the kitchen. Within, meals were being prepared with infinite care and great skill by immigrant chefs from Ghana and Cameroon, aided by the usual flotilla of servants.

  As Aidan's stomach rumbled, a busboy carried a food platter back through the hanging curtain to the spot where the slaves would take their meals.

  Four local slaves clustered about, breaking bread with them. Aidan had immediately noted that they seemed poorly clothed, shod, and fed in comparison to the Wakil's servants. Their accents were so thick that he had difficulty understanding them.

  A blond, red-faced streetsweep who introduced himself as Mwaka prodded and pulled at Aidan's simple djebba cloak. "'Ooo. Ye dress so swell."

  Aidan shrugged, discomfited by the attention. "These are just the clothes we've been given."

  Zaso, a chubby woman with nervous eyes and an insincere laugh, examined Sophia's dress covetously. "And ye talk so pretty." She sidled closer. "So, girl. Ye bundle with the mister? That how ye arned the pretties?"

  Sophia flinched a bit, apparently just a little frightened by the attention. For once, Aidan noted with satisfaction, she couldn't think of anything to say.

  Zaso continued. "I ha' three bairn by old mister, an he never ga’ me aught but another fling on me backside."

  Mwaka hooted. "Fat as ye are, Zaso, yer lucky ya got that."

  She cut him a dark glance. "Ye watch yerself, boyo—next time ye' come aroond, ah'll turn ye right oot."

  Aidan tried to catch his balance. "Zaso. That's an African name, isn't it? But you're . . . Irish? Don't you have an Irish name? A Christian name?"

  The big woman's bray of laughter triggered another from the men. "Born here, bred here. Don't want no animal Irish pigbelly name. Don't bend knee to some Jew the Egyptians nailed to a cross. Allah, he save me. Bilal, he show me the way."

  The other ragged slaves began to murmur "Allah! Allah!"

  Mwaka put it more bluntly. "There ain't no God but Allah, an' Muhammad was His man. I put me trust in Bilal, an' if either you say different, we can jus' start up right now, you think yer so swell." He spat on the ground.

  Aidan raised his hands, the peacemaker at work. "La Ilaha ill Allah, my friend. Share some of our food?"

  Mwaka's fierce glare softened. "Yeah, well—why the hell not?"

  The plate was heaped with salad and fried shrimp, and the slaves dug their grubby hands in, stuffing their mouths and laughing as they choked it down.

  Aidan managed to keep his smile plastered in place, but Sophia seemed to have lost her appetite.

  The main meal had already been savored, and the conversation had turned to satranj. Kai, his father and brother were enjoying small cups of thick sweet Kenyan coffee. On his father's recommendation Elenya drank hers thinned with milk, but the others' were completely black. Even with her coffee thinned, Elenya's speech had accelerated, and she rattled her small feet against the ground like a Benin drummer. "I favor the Gupta defense, Father. When the Empress's vizier leaves the protection of second Mamluk—"

  Kai sighed. Satranj again. The girl was obsessed!

  Abu Ali held up his hand. Prodigy his sister might be, but his father still had greater understanding of the game's technical aspects. "No, no," he said emphatically. "The Vizier is most useful at the end of the game, when minor pieces h
ave been eliminated. That was the mistake that Djidade Berhar made, some years ago . . ."

  Kai noticed his father's attention seemed to be wandering, and his dark eyes were focused out through the front window. Kai followed his gaze to see a crowd gathered across the street, in front of the redbrick building housing the Ababa land office, responsible for the dispensation of over a million square miles of real estate. The crowd had been forming for the entire half hour his family had been in the Empress. Kai wasn't certain what was happening, but his father's eyes had narrowed, and that was always a sign to take care.

  "—but, Father," Elenya protested. "You yourself used the Gupta when you took regional champion in '68."

  The Wakil pulled his attention away from the action across the street to answer his daughter. "Ahh," he said. "My opponent expected a more traditional opening. I deliberately threw him off by mismatching attack and defense, leaving an unfamiliar middle game. By the book, he would win. Our family thrives on improvi—"

  He broke off, studying the crowd across the street again, where some of the spectators were waving fists in the air. "There seems to be a problem," he said calmly.

  Kai mopped his mouth with a napkin. "Here we go."

  "Hush," Ali said.

  As they watched, four Aztecs arrived at the land office on horseback. Three men and one woman, all were regal in dress and bearing, wearing feather-crested red and gold robes. The men's robes split to bare their light bronze chests. All four carried steel swords and ceremonial obsidian knives.

  Townsfolk at a nearby table bristled.

  "Aztec infidels," one whispered.

  A townsman next to him made a spitting sound. "I remember Khartum. What nerve to come here!"

  Ali's hand strayed to his knife, but the Wakil's hand clamped his wrist, to stay him.

  "They must be leasing land," Ali said. 'This crowd could start another war."

  The tallest of the Aztecs looked at Kai through the window, and they locked gazes. The Aztecs eyes were like coals. Kai could not match his gaze and looked away. The Aztec warrior gave a dismissive shrug and dismounted.

  "I spit on them!" a diner at the next table muttered. He wore a bright green robe and had a single scarred eye, won perhaps in some long-forgotten skirmish with the Aztecs. 'They steal our land, and then sell it back?"

  The second townsman groped for the blade at his waist. "The Ulema has the right of it. We should pay their price—in blood,"

  Abu Ali raised his hands high. "Men," he said. "Listen to me. We paid a sore price for the peace. If we have war again, let it be for higher reason than this!"

  "You took the side of a slave against Fazul," the second townsman said. "Who the devil are you?"

  Abu Ali seemed to swell, but when he spoke his voice was deadly calm, almost a whisper. "Wakil Abu Ali Jallaleddin ibn Rashid al Kushi. Watch your tongue, dog."

  Their shocked expressions told Kai they recognized the name. "We meant no disrespect, sir. But this is our district, and not a year ago, those murdering pigs burned a farm in Kwami province. We can't just let them dance into town!"

  One-Eye leaned over to his companions. "Perhaps," he said to them more quietly, "this is best discussed amongst ourselves . . . outside." Without another word, the three men left their table. One-Eye slapped a few coins down to settle their bill, and they exited through the front door.

  For a few seconds, no one spoke. Then Kai leaned over and said quietly, "Father, what do we do?"

  Abu Ali settled back down. "Finish our coffee," he said.

  Reluctantly, Ali and Kai settled back to their Kenyan. Abu Ali sipped, but his slitted eyes continued to watch the front window, and the street beyond. Ali had to crane his head around to see. His father rapped Ali's knuckles. "I have eyes for both of us. Drink."

  Ali and Kai drank, but Elenya was only pretending to sip now, her eyes saucer-wide. Kai's blood boiled with tension. Would this situation explode? Would he finally see his father in combat? Of course, he had seen the Wakil in practice, with both Ali and Malik. Despite his greater girth, the Wakil and his brother were closely matched, and Malik had to exert himself fully to gain any advantage, a wondrous and terrifying sight. But despite those exhilarating memories, Kai had never seen his father's legendary skills in mortal application.

  When they completed their meal, the restaurant’s owner, a bushman of fine proportions who stood no taller than their waist, presented them with the bill.

  "I wanted to thank you for the fine repast," the Wakil said.

  "You are most welcome," replied the little man. "It is an honor to serve the illustrious Abu Ali."

  The Wakil inclined his head magnanimously and began to speak, but suddenly there was a roar from the street. Abu Ali's head whipped around. "I believe it is time for us to go," he said. "Kai—stay and pay the owner. Elenya, remain with your brother."

  "Oh, Father . . ."

  He held up his hand, shushing her. "Ali," he said almost formally. "Would you accompany me?"

  Ali wiped his mouth and stood. Kai's heart trip-hammered. Fear for his family, disappointment that he was not to prove his own manhood, relief that the burden was on stronger shoulders than his own. "Gladly, Father."

  Kai put a wad of bills on the table, waited until his father and brother had left the restaurant, and then went immediately to the window. This, he had no intention of missing.

  Elenya pressed her face to the window beside him, her eyes wide, her palms pressed flat against the glass. Kai looked down at her, wondering if he should warn her away—what followed might well be unpleasant. Then he realized that he would have to rope her to the table to prevent her from watching. Even then, she might chew through the ropes.

  From his vantage point within the Empress, Kai watched the four Aztecs as they walked through the land office's front curtain. They scanned the crowd with no apparent sign of emotion, despite its obvious hostility. The plumed warriors seemed utterly disdainful.

  "Kill the cannibal kufirani" one of the crowd yelled, and hurled a brick at the Aztec with the most impressive plumage. The Aztec slid his head a digit or two to the side and the brick hurtled past and shattered the land office's front window.

  The crowd roared its disappointment. "Kill them all!"

  Before a full-scale riot could erupt, the Wakil and his son interposed themselves between the mob and its intended victims.

  Abu Ali raised his hands. "No!" he yelled. Again Kai had the strange sense that his father was actually swollen, had somehow increased his size. “The Treaty of Kwami clearly states that the Aztecs may lease their land at fair price with safe conduct."

  "We didn't sign that damned paper!" someone in the crowd shouted.

  The Wakil fixed his gaze on the shouter scornfully. "I did. I, and my brother, and a dozen other landowners and men you are sworn to obey. Attack these men, and you are dishonoring my house, and that I will not allow."

  Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Kai caught a flash of bright green, and he shifted his gaze to an alley next to the land office . . . Green robes. It was the three restaurant patrons, who had exited earlier to play an assassin's game. Slowly and steadily, they were working their way into sword range.

  When he had worked a bit closer, the scarred man screamed "Hai!" and lunged at the tallest Aztec's back.

  For all his years of training, Kai could barely decipher the blur of motion that followed. One, two, three whirlwind strokes. Abu Ali half severed the head of one man, sent a second's arm flopping into the dust, and whirled to meet One-Eye only to find that Ali had already pierced his heart with a cubit of good Benin steel.

  Ali withdrew his blade and One-Eye sagged to his knees, mouth drooling a crimson stream into the dust. One-Eye collapsed onto his side and was still.

  Kai found himself halfway out the door before stopping again, his urge to aid his family balanced with the need to obey his father.

  Ali was staring fixedly at the blood on the blade. "Ali!" Abu Ali said sharply, jarring his elde
st son from his reverie. The Wakil pulled his pistol from his waist and cocked it.

  Kai watched, goggle-eyed.

  Abu Ali's blade had tasted blood, and he held it on high, fully aware of the spectacle he made. The crowd was thunderstruck, fear and awe mingling to paralyze. Good. Ungoverned fear turns men into sheep, and sheep responded swiftly to a strong shepherd. "Whoever moves next against this family, when he stands before Allah will be judged a suicide. Do not test me."

  The crowd grumbled, but the evidence of his intent was plain before them. If heaven was kind, there would be no more death this day. There was a disturbance at the back of the crowd, signaling the arrival of the local constabulary.

  The man was all feathers and attitude. Constable indeed! Abu Ali wouldn't have such a peacock guard his henhouse. "What is this?" he said. "Disperse!" The captain was a tall man, of brown complexion. The Wakil detected a touch of chalk in his limp hair and sharp nose, and the pomposity of his quasi-military bearing suggested a festering insecurity. He examined the corpses, and then stood imperiously. "Who killed these men?"

  The Wakil made the slightest bow that courtesy demanded. "I, Wakil Abu Ali," he said. "And you are?"

  The captain clicked his heels. "Captain Banjul, at your service." The name suddenly seemed to register with him. "Wakil," he said. "Your fame precedes you. An honor to have you in our humble town."

  Abu Ali was less than impressed. Ababa was a small town, but important: the land office coordinated leases for thousands of farmers and quarrymen. He expected better than this mixed-breed fop. "An honor sullied by blood. Where were you when this family needed protection?"

  Banjul took the Wakil aside. Ali peered after them, as if trying to overhear. The Aztecs stood impassively, as if there had never been a threat. "Sir—feelings run a bit hot around here. Certainly you can understand—"

  Abu Ali snapped his fingers in a dismissive gesture. "I understand that you were appointed to keep the peace. These men entered your town on legal business, and deserved the protection of the law."