Sogolon is in the room they place her, feeling like iron as she sink into the sheets. The Aesi leave him smell behind in the welcome room and hallway, but she can’t tell if it really is a smell or just a memory. She wondering about memory too. Two days ago, the mistress worried about the King Sister. One day ago and the mistress say no such soul live. No, not that, for to say no such soul live is to consider that she did once. Bad enough for the mistress to think she lie. Worse for her to think Sogolon invent, which would beg the reason why. Sogolon know she didn’t make this princess up, or have any reason to, especially when the rest of day the mistress have a sharp memory, scolding her for eavesdropping yesterday. But the way the mistress first reply to her make her think that dream and memory is blurring, and now she wonder where else she confusing the two. The thought weigh her down in the bed, but then she doze into light sleep, which bring on a light dream, where she see a flash of that hair, red like the head of a weaver bird. In the dream memory he turn around to face her and is about to speak when she wake up.
Three days after the Aesi visit, the court send message that they will receive the house of Komwono the next day. As soon as the herald leave, the mistress fly up into a wild cursing, complaining and yelling at Sogolon, for she now see that all her fabrics are from the last time she was at court and it would be an appalling loss of face—Appalling, you hear me, girl, that I set into court in such out-of-fashion rags. Better I come back dressed like a slave, she say to Sogolon, even though the girl have nothing to do with her dress. To a real bazaar with you, she say, and throw coin at the girl. Sogolon in fear, for she don’t know what the mistress like, don’t know what would please the court, and don’t know if that is one and the same thing. She send Sogolon with Keme, who hiss when he hear that this is an errand for woman dress.
The fabric and gifts bazaar is in the Baganda district, at the end of a long causeway that connect the four other sections of the city. And downhill. They leave by the west gate before noon, both on horseback though Sogolon still nervous about riding. At the great road, they set off. For most of the causeway run along the peak of the mountain with nothing but a steep drop on either side, and nothing to see but blue mountains on top of mountains. One crossroad lead to another, and with that a turn that dip down along the side of the mountain, which then lead to a steaming lake that they ride around. One long turn and soon they hit a straight road to the district, home to blacksmiths and claymakers, merchants and tradesmen, markets and bazaars, buyers and beggars. People buy and sell in the Ugliko too, but they all have to close up and empty the street by sundown, or they spend the night in dungeons that plunge so deep that some never come back out. In the Baganda section, nearly every shop and smithery have the owner and family keeping house above or behind it. But she never see a place like Baganda. This must be where the mistress’s silks come from, for here she see fabrics in colors that have no name that she know. And patterns that come alive—fishes swimming, lions prancing, patterns that dance to a drum she don’t hear. Foods sizzling and foods raw. At one stall a man is selling live yellow cats from across the sand sea, Pet them, cook them, pick your choice, both will be nice. More than one seller woman shout that her wares just come off the ship from a land where men spin in one spot for ten moons. From a land where the fish walk and the horses swim. She almost walk into a stall selling live snakes and scream. Keme laugh and pull her away. Sogolon and Keme at a trot, and she seeing people who are not merchants. Women buying for families, traders on their way to markets of gold, emerald, pelts, musk, and salt. Boys carrying scrolls for old men hobbling far behind. Craftsmen carting tools, carts pulled by donkeys, carts pulled by mules, carts pulled by oxen. Oxen snorting at boys with switches. Heralds spreading news that the King is about his business.
“I soon join the buffalo legion,” Keme say, nervous when he say it.
“I don’t know that legion.”
“You know any legion?”
“I know I can ride off in peace.”
“Your problem is that nobody ever bother to tell you a joke.”
“I see jokes all the time,” she say.
“Everything is a fight with you all of a sudden.”
“You going to tell me what is this legion.”
“Fuck the gods.” He frown, then smile. Sogolon still just looking at him blank.
“They march to the battlefield and lead the way with war. Skilled in all manner of combat and report to no one but the King.”
“You already have skill. Buffalo legion, eh? Maybe you turning into a buffalo already.”
“That would sound like praise from everybody but you.”
“What it sound like from me?”
“I don’t know, Miss Sogolon.”
“It look like there be at least one thing redeemable about you,” the mistress say. She inspect each fabric Sogolon bring back, frowning on all, but caressing them nonetheless.
“These three will suit,” she say, pointing to the pile on the left. “These we will just have to make do,” she say, pointing to the pile on the right. “I mean for you, girl. Surely you don’t expect to go in the presence of the King looking like a swamp rat. Tell the housekeeper to get me a seamstress. Tonight, girl.”
Inside, the whole house cringing from the mistress yell at the seamstress. So Sogolon go outside. She lose count of which night it was, but it is either the second or third with no moon. Sogolon bored. This must be the time of night where men read, she think. Well, she can’t read and nobody is here to teach her. The mistress more interested in teaching her how to sit, and eat and stand and be, that it is a wonder that she don’t try to teach her how to shit. Her mind is being cruel. The thought don’t even come that much, that tomorrow she will be in the royal court in the presence of a royal somebody, and this is an honor not many, certainly nobody like her, will ever see. A thought come to her to look over her life up to this moment, to go as far back as she can remember, then travel to this point, just to marvel at the whole thing. But she not interested in going back that far. Or going back at all. Not even to this afternoon, much less.