by Ayana Gray
Just like Baba once believed in you, said a cruel voice in his mind. He trusts you, just like Baba did.
Ekon shoved that voice away as he nodded.
“Be strong.” Kamau nudged him forward before receding into the night. “You can do this. And remember: Kutoka mzizi.”
Ekon started up the stairs, the words echoing in his wake. Kutoka mzizi meant “from the root.” The old family adage was a reminder of where he came from and the expectations that came with that. Kutoka mzizi.
Baba had been the one to teach him and Kamau those hallowed words when they were small. He should have been here to say them now.
But Baba wasn’t here. Baba was dead.
Just before he reached the landing, Ekon glanced over his shoulder. Kamau was already gone, and from here the Greater Jungle on the opposite side of the city was little more than an ill-shapen smudge against the obsidian night, too far away for its voices to reach him. Still, as he turned back around, Ekon couldn’t ignore the feeling that—from within its depths—something was watching him, and waiting.
CHAPTER 3
The Smallest Resistance
No matter how many times she’d faced it over the years, Koffi had always dreaded the Hema.
She gnawed on her bottom lip, unease rising as she watched its crimson folds flutter in the breeze, noting the violating way its central pole impaled the maiden night sky like a gilded spear. Her steps dragged as she and Mama moved to join the queue of beastkeepers waiting to enter it with their assigned beasts.
Almost over, she thought. This is almost over.
Once, in another era, she supposed the massive tent might have been considered grand, even impressive to some. But time had taken a visible toll; tears in the seams hadn’t been mended, and rust coated most of the metal stakes hammered into the grass to keep it secure. Attendance at the Night Zoo had, like many things in Lkossa over the years, steadily declined, and it showed.
“Smile,” Mama reminded her, guiding them to their place in line as several of the other beastkeepers took cautionary steps back. Koffi twisted her mouth to form a half grimace she hoped would suffice. Baaz required all beastkeepers of the Night Zoo to look cheerful during shows, and notoriously punished those who didn’t. With a shiver, she thought of the whipping post, not so far from here. The cruelty of it—the bizarreness of being forced to look happy about handling creatures who could kill you as soon as look at you—was one thing she wouldn’t miss about working here.
“Don’t forget to check Diko’s harness,” said Mama. “Make sure it’s secure before we—”
“Hey, Kof!”
Koffi looked up, a genuine smile tugging at her lips now. A boy of about fourteen was approaching them fast, surrounded by a pack of wild dogs. He had bright, intelligent brown eyes and a permanently cheeky grin.
“Hey, Jabir.”
Upon seeing the wild dogs, Diko hissed, his multicolored scales rippling as he eyed them. Mama pulled him away with a disapproving look. “Jabir,” she said sternly, “those dogs are supposed to be on leashes.”
“Meh, they don’t need them.” Jabir’s smile didn’t falter. “They’re well trained.”
“Didn’t one of them poop in Baaz’s slippers the other day?”
Jabir’s mouth twitched. “Like I said, they’re well trained.”
A real laugh bubbled in Koffi’s throat, followed by a shot of unexpected pain. Jabir was her closest friend at the Night Zoo, like a brother to her in some ways. She watched him drop to his knees to play with his dogs. Leaving the Night Zoo would mean leaving him too; she didn’t relish having to tell him the news, but she had to. It would be better if he heard it from her.
“Jabir,” she started tentatively. “I need to tell you some—”
“Did you hear about tonight’s visitors?” Jabir smirked the way he usually did when he was about to gossip. One of his jobs at the zoo was to run errands for Baaz, so he always had news first.
“No,” said Koffi, momentarily distracted. “What about them?”
“It’s some merchant couple visiting from the Baridi Region,” he said. “Apparently, they’re pretty rich. Baaz is angling for a patronage. I saw them coming in. The old man seems okay, but the wife walks like she’s got a stick up her—”
“Jabir!”
Koffi snorted as Jabir offered Mama a sheepish smile. His words lingered in her mind, and she looked around as more beastkeepers gathered. She hadn’t noticed before, but far more animals were out of their cages tonight, and the grounds did look like they’d gotten an extra bit of grooming. If this merchant couple did agree to a patronage, it would add not only prestige but new revenue for the zoo. Baaz would be especially anxious tonight.
A dulcet chorus of voices suddenly rose from the inside of the tent, beautiful and harmonic. At once, all three of them stilled. Those were the Night Zoo’s indentured musicians; their song meant the show had officially commenced. It took only seconds for a thunderous percussion of goatskin drums to join the singing, and instinctively Koffi’s own heart attuned to their pounding cadence. She looked up when the musical overture ended, and in its place an anticipatory silence weighted the air.
“Excellent!” said someone inside the tent. “A lovely performance from our choir!” Koffi recognized that booming showman’s voice—that was Baaz. “If you enjoyed that, Bwana Mutunga, you’re sure to marvel at the beauties I have in store for you tonight. Though, of course, they’ll all pale in comparison to your lovely wife. Bi Mutunga, words could never do your radiance justice . . .”
Koffi barely managed not to roll her eyes. Baaz was using Bwana and Bi, the more formal honorifics of the Zamani language, clearly trying to impress. The Hema’s canvas was too thick for Koffi to discern anything from outside, but she heard what sounded like two sets of hands offering polite applause as the musicians exited the tent. Two, only two guests. Baaz would have told them that this was part of their “exclusive” experience, but she knew better; no one else had showed up. Canceled shows due to lack of attendance seemed to happen more and more often lately. After a moment, her master spoke again.
“Now, as I’m sure you’ve both heard, my spectacular Night Zoo boasts the widest array of specialty creatures in the region, the likes of which you’ve never—”
“Just show us the animals,” said a heavily accented female voice. “We do not plan to be here all evening.”
There was an awkward pause. Then:
“Of course! Right away, Bi Mutunga! May I now present, without further ado, the Parade of Beasts!”
It was a cue, and no sooner had Baaz spoken the words than he was pushing open the Hema’s front entrance flap. Koffi tensed on principle at the sight of him.
To his credit, Baaz Mtombé certainly looked like the owner of a “spectacular” Night Zoo; everything about him seemed larger than life, like a caricature. He was a mountain of a man with deep oak-brown skin and a mane of thick black and blond dreadlocks that stuck out in every direction. With his red dashiki and fake-silk slippers, he looked jolly, if not slightly overdressed. Koffi knew better than to believe the ruse.
“Move!” He beckoned the first beastkeepers in line as they struggled to guide a pair of silverback gorillas into the tent by their harnesses. “Just as we’ve rehearsed, big smiles!”
The line ahead of them began moving into the tent, and Koffi swallowed. There was nothing to be afraid of, really; shows were the same every time and this one would likely be one of her last. Still, she was oddly nervous. All too soon, she, Mama, and Diko reached the Hema’s entry. She tried not to inhale Baaz’s spicy cologne as they ducked past him, and then they were inside.
If the outside of the Hema reflected what the old tent had once been, the interior clung to its former grandeur with a desperate grip. Its decor was slightly dated, furnished with old animal-print throws and well-worn chaises. Carefully arranged candle
light gave the place a flickering golden glow while also hiding some of the more stubborn stains in the rugs, and the heady scent of palm wine just barely masked the stench of animals past and present. A massive statue of a peacock carved from turquoise was arranged in one corner, and in the center, an open space was designated as a stage. A well-dressed couple sat before it, waiting on a plush red divan.
The man looked old enough to be Koffi’s grandfather. His skin was dark and wrinkled, his cropped hair nearly white. He wore a plum-colored dashiki Koffi knew at once was expensive despite its subtlety, and he exuded the air of someone senior and refined. Beside him, his wife was the opposite, uncomfortably young and gaudy. She seemed partial to the color green, because she was covered in it from her wax-print dress to the glittering jade beads clacking at the ends of her box braids. She pinched her nose as Koffi and Mama entered the tent with Diko, and an embarrassed heat crept up Koffi’s neck. Jabir followed behind with his wild dogs, and Baaz came in last.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” He said the practiced words as though he were addressing millions instead of an audience of two. “For your delectation and delight, I present to you the many creatures of my spectacular Night Zoo! Tonight, we will take you on a journey through the wilds of the southern marshlands, the ferocities of the Greater Jungle, even specimens procured from the farthest reaches of the western wastes. First, the guiamala!”
Koffi relaxed a little as she and Mama moved to a space against the tent’s walls while two beastkeepers ushered the camel-like guiamala to its center. They walked it in circles several times, letting the merchant and his wife admire the shiny black spikes running down the length of its back, each one sharp enough to draw blood.
“From the Kusonga Plains,” Baaz narrated, “the guiamala is an herbivore and can survive weeks without water. They’re graceful creatures, and the story goes that a western princess once used the spike of one for a love potion . . .”
Koffi let Baaz’s stories about the Night Zoo’s creatures—some true, most fake—blend together as more animals were summoned one by one. He told a particularly gruesome story about the silverback gorillas when they were called up next, then shared a folktale about impundulus when a young male beastkeeper came forward with one perched on his arm. She held her breath as the shrieking hyena was brought forth—when unmuzzled, its cackle could paralyze the human body—but fortunately, Baaz did not suggest a live demonstration. Soon enough, he was looking to Jabir.
“And now for a special, local treat,” he said proudly. “May I present Jabir and his Lkossan wild dogs!”
A surge of pride ran through Koffi as Jabir stepped forward with his fluffy brown dogs and offered both a smile and a cordial bow to the Mutungas. While she didn’t care much for the Night Zoo’s shows, Jabir took them in stride, a natural performer. He raised a hand, fingers dancing through the air in a complicated array of signals, and at once the dogs stilled. Koffi smiled. Jabir’s expertise was in nonverbal commands; he could train almost anything with them. He pointed two fingers, and the dogs began to run around him in a perfect circle; a closed fist then directed them to rise to their hind legs and yip. Bwana Mutunga chortled as one of the dogs faced him and bent its forelegs in an unmistakable bow while another hopped adorably in place. Koffi felt another pang. These were the moments she’d miss.
Jabir demonstrated a few more tricks before clapping his hands and signaling for the dogs to stop and sit. He offered a deep finishing bow while the merchant applauded.
“Well, well!” said Bwana Mutunga. “That was quite impressive, young man!”
Jabir grinned before herding his dogs offstage and letting Baaz resume his position.
“One of the zoo’s up-and-coming stars!” Baaz said, beaming. “And there’s more yet to see! For our next act—”
“My love.”
Koffi glanced up to see the merchant’s wife, Bi Mutunga, fanning the air with a distinctly impatient expression. She addressed her husband. “It’s getting late. Perhaps we should return to the caravan.”
“But . . .” Baaz’s voice faltered. “But surely you’ll stay just a little longer? I haven’t even given you the full tour of the grounds yet, an exclusive offer for patrons only—”
“Ah, I’m afraid my younger, better half is right, Baaz.” Bwana Mutunga gave his wife a doting look. Like her, his accented words had the thick, choppy cut of a Baridian, a northerner. “I have business at the temple tomorrow morning. Perhaps we could discuss a patronage next time . . .”
Baaz wrung his hands, anxious. “But you haven’t even seen our grand finale yet!” He addressed the merchant’s wife. “I think you’ll be particularly interested in this one, Bi Mutunga. If I could just have ten more minutes of your time—”
“Five.” Bi Mutunga’s expression didn’t change.
“Perfect!” Baaz clapped his hands, at once revitalized. Koffi knew what was coming next but still jolted when her master’s eyes shot to her. “May I now present Diko the jokomoto!”
Just keep calm. Koffi willed the words as she and Mama led Diko forward together. She held his leash, but Mama stayed at her side, there for backup. You’ve done this a hundred times, Koffi reasoned. Easy, just like you’ve always done . . .
Slowly, they guided Diko around the perimeter of the stage. In the candlelight, his scales shimmered in an almost-mesmerizing way. Though she didn’t dare look up, she heard the merchant’s soft sighs of awe.
“What an exquisite creature,” said Bwana Mutunga. “Baaz, where did you say this one was from?”
“Ah.” There was renewed excitement in Baaz’s voice. “Jokomotos come from the Katili Desert of the west; they’re exceedingly rare beasts these days—”
“Speaking of beasts,” Bwana Mutunga interrupted. Koffi chanced a look at him as she and Mama made another lap. “Is it true that the Shetani got one of your keepers, Baaz? I heard it went on another rampage last night, killed eight people.”
Koffi faltered in her steps as a hush fell over the tent. She knew without looking that every beastkeeper in the vicinity would have stilled at the mention of Sahel, waiting to hear Baaz’s answer to the question.
“It’s . . . true.” Baaz kept his tone light. “But the boy did choose to run away. He was a fool to leave my generous protection.”
Koffi’s free hand curled into a fist, but she kept walking. For the merchant’s part, when Koffi looked at him, he was chuckling into his tea.
“That would be quite an addition to your show, would it not?”
Koffi saw unmistakable longing flash across her master’s features. “Well, a man can dream,” he said wistfully. “But I think I’d have to barter my soul for such an acquisition.”
“I must admit . . .” The merchant balanced the porcelain cup on his knee. “That abomination has been something of a boon for my business.”
Baaz’s eyes brightened. “Remind me again what you said you traded in, Bwana. Priceless jewels? Fine textiles?”
Bwana Mutunga gave Baaz an indulgent look. “I didn’t say, but it’s neither,” he corrected. “My specialty is in administrative supplies—quills, papyrus, Baridian ink—the Temple of Lkossa alone constitutes a quarter of my business, what with all the books and maps they house there.”
“Naturally.” Baaz nodded as though he knew all about such things.
“I used to have to price match against my competitors,” Bwana Mutunga went on. “But now most of them fear traveling to Lkossa, so I have the monopoly! It’s been a blessing!”
Baaz’s expression held visible greed. “Well, Bwana, let me be the first to wholeheartedly congratulate you on your . . . prosperity.”
Koffi fought to hold her stage smile in place, but it felt more and more like a scowl. The Shetani was no blessing to the people of Lkossa; it was a menace. Anyone who saw such a monster as good was no better than dirt, in her opinion. She thought of Sahel, how small h
e’d looked in his shroud. He’d run from the Night Zoo and into the Greater Jungle because he’d felt like he had no choice. Some people wouldn’t understand that—Baaz had called him a fool—but she knew better. She knew that poverty could be a different kind of monster, always lurking and waiting to consume. For some, death was the kinder beast. Not that men like these two understood that.
“I wonder, Baaz . . .” Bwana Mutunga was now leaning forward in his chair. “Could we . . . have a closer look at the jokomoto?”
Baaz perked up. “Of course!” He turned to Koffi and her mother. “Girls, bring Diko over for our guests to see.”
At his words, Koffi froze. Usually, they just paraded Diko around the stage a few times, so this was a break from the routine. Instinctively, she met Mama’s eyes, but her mother didn’t look worried. She nodded, and together they guided Diko toward the merchant and his wife, stopping a foot in front of them.
“Fascinating.” Bwana Mutunga moved his teacup to a side table as he actually stood to examine Diko. At the sudden motion, the jokomoto tensed but didn’t move.
Easy, boy. Koffi kept her eyes trained on Diko, willing him to behave himself. Easy does it . . .
If Bwana Mutunga was impressed, his wife was decidedly not. She inhaled, then wrinkled her nose again. “It stinks,” she declared. She pulled a small perfume bottle from a bag at her side and sprayed into the air aggressively. In the confines of the tent, the scent suffused the air, sharp and tangy. Diko hissed low, and Koffi’s throat went dry as she suddenly noticed something near his neck.
One of the loops to his harness had come undone.
“I—” Koffi reached for the loop, then stopped herself. Mama had told her to make sure the harness was secure, twice. If Baaz saw that it wasn’t now . . .
“Ugh!” Bi Mutunga fanned faster, waving her perfume around. “Honestly, the smell is absolutely—”
It happened fast, but for Koffi it seemed to take a century. She watched one of Diko’s yellow eyes flick in her direction before he suddenly lunged, jaws snapping at Bi Mutunga’s sandaled feet. His teeth caught the hem of her dress. She screamed, reeling back so violently, she flipped right over the back of the divan. Mama gasped, and Koffi’s heart sank. Quickly she pulled Diko away. He calmed down again almost immediately, but it was too late.