The Tracker is by the window looking out again. “Yes, yes, cut this place loose,” he say.
They about to leave when the doorway melt. Bunshi. Long time pass since I see people jump at the sight of her. Bunshi flow down slow like honey and pool on the floor. The pool start to rise and bend and shape and Leopard and Tracker draw arms again. Work of devils, the cat say but the Tracker say he seen this kind of devil before and I know he is thinking what I often say. The Tracker chuck a dagger into the black mass, which suck it in then all suddensome chuck the dagger right for his eye. The Leopard catch it, quick as a blink. I want to scream, Quit with all this show, you black bitch, but hold my tongue. Bunshi continue with herself, rolling up and around like injera dough, twisting, squeezing, spreading wider. The Leopard snarling, the slaver fidgeting because it is his wishy-washy words that draw her out. Well, you is the fool for telling him to lie first, I want to say to her. Finally she curve herself out of her own mass and stand there, like she waiting for a clap. Nsaka know not to look at me, for she know the look I going give her back.
“I am—”
“Omoluzu. Everybody can see that,” the Tracker say, and I couldn’t stop the snort.
“Bunshi. Some people call me Popele.”
“What are you, some water imp?”
“This Leopard spoke much about your nose. He never said anything about your mouth,” Bunshi say.
“How he keep putting his foot in it?” Nsaka Ne Vampi say.
The slaver laugh first, then Nsaka, even the Ogo look away to hide his smile. Even in the dim light I can see the grin burn away from the Tracker’s face. He reach for an ax.
“You forget what I do with your knife?”
“Leopard, I tire of this room,” the Tracker say.
“Hear the full story, then decide if you want to stay,” Bunshi say.
“Another? Promise me somebody fucks in this one.”
Bunshi continue, telling him about Kwash Dara, Basu Fumanguru, and how this man that the King love the most soon run afoul of him. Basu have visions of what a King, a country should be, which make him win the people but lose all who prefer the North just as it is, among them the royal house and the elders. Then one night he catch an elder raping a girl and kill him. Good for the girl, good for all who seek justice, but bad for Fumanguru. He flee to Kongor with his family and fool himself after a few years that he safe. Then come Omoluzu and the Night of the Skulls, and her saving his youngest son. I knew Nsaka wouldn’t be looking at me when I turn to her, but I stare her down anyway. Glare her down. Dare her to see the scowl on my face. This water sprite is telling them that the heir to the throne was Basu Fumanguru’s child. I want to tell them that I done with this, but I look in the dark and swear I see crows.
Then the Tracker say that maybe this child is better off wherever he is, with whoever he is with. Certainly better than this water sprite who couldn’t keep him safe in the first place. Seriously, you look like a walking target begging for an arrow, he say. More words like this and I might almost start to like him, especially when the holes in Bunshi stories get so big they start to whistle.
“She’s not paying you to ask or to think. Just to smell,” say Nsaka. “You the one with the all-smelling nose. If this job too much for you, then leave.”
“Is I who decide who stay and who leave,” say Bunshi.
The Tracker not listening to either. He back by the window, sniffing again. A door swing open and the only person I can think coming upstairs is the one person missing.
“In two days we ride for Kongor. Come or don’t come, it makes no difference to me. She’s the one that wants you two,” Nsaka say. The footsteps draw her ears too, she hop a little then settle into a walk, trying to not look eager. She is for certain fucking this snake.
“You are late. Everyone is—”
The hatchet slice off her sentence, zip past her face, and lodge in the door.
“You full crazed? You barely missed me, old friend,” Nyka say and step in with a smile. Truth, I want to step past my great-great-granddaughter and touch the skin of a man who feel he don’t need to wear nothing else. Snakeskin, furskin, you just want to touch, say the voice that sound like me, but I don’t know what she mean.
“I wasn’t trying to miss!” shout the Tracker and fling his second ax straight for Nyka’s face. He dodge but it almost hit Nsaka. Nyka yank the ax and throw it right back at the Tracker, but the ax either lose flight or dodge, hard to know in the dark. Nyka say something about enchantments when in the quick the Tracker jump him and they tumble out the door and roll down the stairs. Nsaka run behind, screaming at the two of them, as if she don’t know that the last place you want to be is between two men fighting. That make me follow, not for them, but for her. I reach the doorway, see them still tumbling down into the dark and sparks going off, their weapons stabbing and scraping the mortar more than their skin. Nyka! Ne Vampi shout. The light dim but we can see them hit the landing where Nyka jump the Tracker, but the Tracker kick him off, and there again, the glint of a blade. Nyka quick, he bash it out of the Tracker’s hand and punch him in the belly, which make him bowl over, his face right into Nyka’s knee. Tracker yell and stagger but he not done. He block the snake’s right hand, upper-punch him in the chin and straight into the face. The air change for me, change to something I know too well and like too much. All that missing is the stick, I don’t think and I certainly don’t say. Ne Vampi shouting at me to stop them and all I can think of is how much I miss how a fight smell. The Leopard run past me but what he was going to stop as a cat? Nyka is the more skilled fighter, but the Tracker don’t care if he lose. Nsaka stop screaming at me and rush down the stairs. The Tracker throw himself at Nyka’s back and grab around his neck. Then just so it happen, Tracker’s hand yank away from the snake’s neck, Nyka slip from Tracker’s grip and dip to the ground, Tracker pull his hand back to his side and he reverse-jump right back onto the step.
“The fuck!” he yell. Nsaka and her gift. He jump backways right into the knife that she press against his throat.
“Don’t think I won’t cut a dog,” she say.
“I can slip out of this and punch your koo,” the Tracker say.
“And the next time I reverse you, my knife will be at your balls. Cool your foot.”
“Next time he fuck you, wash yourself after,” he say.